The Stargazer
by Westel
Summary: What seems like an accident to some may appear as prophecy to others, especially when the planet and its visitors are unknown to each other, and Starfleet is very far away.
1. Chapter 1

The Stargazer

Westel

The old woman stood on the stone slab before an open door, sweeping furiously, her back to the quiet dusk behind her. She felt the summer breeze stir languidly, heard the sleepy birds settling down in the hedges nearby, and felt secure among the familiar, end of day sounds and smells she had known since childhood.

The stone, immaculately white after years of scrubbings, radiated the last of the day's heat under her ankle-length skirt. She stretched and scratched an itch, reluctant to go in to her supper just yet. Leaning on the broom handle, oblivious to the damage done to the straws, she stared out over the trees lining the field beyond her yard to watch the stars come out.

A mile away, beneath the forest edge, a light kindled in a cottage nestled among rustling trees. The wife set a lamp on the kitchen table to shed a warm glow over their evening meal, its welcoming beams lighting the way for her husband who was just quitting the fields.

In the little town over the hill, the village children played in the square, watching for the evening's first night-flies and having an ear for their mothers' calls to come home.

It was a night like any night in the upland hills: quiet, serene, untouched, yet Jaresh felt uneasy as he looked out upon the darkening terrain which lay between his stone house and the village nestling among the rolling folds of the land.

As he stared into the twilight he suddenly clutched at his throat, his breath coming in painful gasps. Falling to his knees, Jaresh fought against the blackness in his mind, struggling to stay conscious. Slow minutes passed before his breathing slowed and steadied, before he became aware of the cold stone of the window ledge pressing against his cheek. He stood carefully, trembling with weakness, and glanced up to see a falling star disappearing beyond the horizon.

The spell had come three times now, just at nightfall, and with increasing intensity. This _starsong_ was persistent and growing stronger. Something was about to happen, like nothing the village had ever known - something which could change life as they knew it, and make their familiar world into something totally alien...and deadly.

ooOOoo

"Mr. Scott, can you do anything with the stabilizers?" yelled Spock hoarsely as he bent over the inert form of Captain Kirk, feeling for a pulse. The shuttle craft lurched violently as it entered the planet's atmosphere, nose down and yawing wildly.

"No, sir! It's all I can do to keep her out a tailspin." Scott glanced up worriedly from his controls. "It's gonna be a rough ride."

"Sir, we have entered atmosphere. Shields are holding but weak; we're going to feel the heat before we land." Chekov, left without tacticals or proper instrumentation, keyed open the viewscreen panel and looked upon the fast-approaching planet. His eyes widened in unspoken alarm.

Spock used the weight of his body to keep Kirk's unconscious one from battering against the bulkhead. Impossible to check for injuries; at least Jim was breathing. Spock's own head throbbed from the blow he had received when the tiny ship had been bombarded with an unexplained (and unexpected) energy field of some kind. No doubt Scott and Chekov had suffered similar injuries. Read-outs had gone wild; the small crew felt a disorientation which still clung to them like cold sweat. How the shuttle craft had held up was beyond comprehension.

Unable to contribute to the engineer's and navigator's efforts to land safely, Spock looked at the chaos around him, all too aware of a keen whistling which spoke of leaking atmosphere, strange muted sounds denoting a bulkhead strained to the breaking point, and the smoke which became thicker with every vanishing circuit.

Kirk groaned, his hands clutching feebly at his side. His eyes opened briefly, without recognition, before closing again. Spock could only hold on, unable to release his grip long enough to adjust Kirk's position. He would have to wait until they landed - or crashed.

Chekov glanced at Scotty, whose face was streaked with sooty residue and sweat. It was becoming difficult to concentrate; he was coughing hard and dizziness washed over him again and again. "Mr. Scott, I don't think we're going to make it."

"Hush, man," said Scott, never taking his eyes from the instruments. "You're not to talk that way, lad..." He broke off, coughing asthmatically, his lungs feeling as though he were breathing black molasses. You're not to even think it. We'll land."

"Where, Mr. Scott?"

"Anywhere," whispered Scott, his voice gone. "Just make sure she lands right side up."

Chekov smiled grimly at that remark. She would have to land herself, it seemed, because everything was getting so dark and thick, the smothering blackness swallowing him whole...

"Chekov! Chekov, are ye all right?"

Pavel had to nod in the affirmative, despite the violent shaking the chief engineer was giving him. At least nothing appeared to be broken or severed, though his neck felt as if it had been wrenched full circle.

He sat up with Scott's assistance and shook the cobwebs from his head. As his mind cleared he could see that the shuttle had suffered considerable damage in landing - their equipment and few belongings lay scattered and smashed in the interior. The shuttle door was open, but only partly, and by the look of it would not close of its own accord again.

It was then he noticed the crumpled body near the door, one hand outstretched as if supplicating some vanished deity, the blue sleeve torn and stained green...

Mr. Scott, having satisfied himself the navigator was functional, scrabbled about picking up odds and ends of equipment, mumbling to himself in a strange dialect. As Chekov hurried over to Mr. Spock, the engineer knelt beside them both for a moment, laying his hand on Chekov's shoulder.

"I hate to do this to you, lad, but the captain has disappeared. He wouldna left Spock here like this if he'd been in his right mind. He must have wandered off after we crashed." At Chekov's look of dismay, he hurried on: "Oh, you'll do fine, lad, while I'm gone. Mr. Spock'll come around all right - I've already checked him. There are a few superficial scrapes you can tend to, and mild concussion. You just keep an eye on him until he wakes up. When he does, tell him I'm looking for the captain. I'll be coming back here, bar something happening. I've left information Mr. Spock will be needing on the tricorder." He tapped his finger on the instrument.

"I'll need a communicator, lad," he added, pointing to the storage compartment behind Chekov. With some effort, the Russian got the door open, revealing the smashed equipment inside. Scott took a long look and shrugged resolutely.

"Mr. Scott," said Chekov, shutting the door of the compartment, "what happened to us?"

Scott frowned darkly. "I can't say exactly; if I didn't know better I'd say we were attacked, but we're supposedly in friendly territory. I only saw the readouts for a moment before we lost sensors; it was an energy field like nothing I've seen before." He sighed. "We'll have lots of time to speculate. Starfleet won't be missing us for two weeks, what with the length of the wedding festivities and all, so we're liable to be here for a bit, even after they realize we're lost and send someone to look for us."

The Russian wondered if, offended that the Federation representatives failed to show up for the wedding, the Galesi officials would bother to report their absence at all. Better to think of something else. "Do you think this planet is inhabited, Mr. Scott?" asked Chekov, running the scanner over the unconscious Vulcan to prove to himself that he was in no danger.

"According to my reading, yes." Scotty handed over the tricorder to Chekov. "But no sign of industrialization. You know what that means. They'll not be contacting Starfleet for us."

"Why didn't the Galesi government tell us there were other inhabited planets in this system?"

The Scotsman shrugged. "We're dealing with a new culture, new people. Shouldn't ask too many questions. When the Federation is invited to attend the most important event in the Galesi society, the heir's wedding, we don't want to ruffle their feathers, do we?"

Chekov was quickly learning the ways of diplomacy aboard the Enterprise. He nodded ruefully.

"That's the spirit. I shouldna be too long; I doubt the captain has wandered far. Medikit is there," he said, pointing to the case. "And lad," he cautioned, "if there are inhabitants here, remember the Prime Directive." And with that last quick warning, Scotty was gone.

Chekov stared at the vacant door for a moment, not liking the sudden silence. First the captain, now Scott had gone. They were separated and vulnerable in a strange place under stranger circumstances. No, he didn't like it one bit.

Spock moved, drawing Chekov out of his reverie. Sighing, he opened the medikit case and proceeded to make the Vulcan comfortable. He made short work of the minor wounds and played the mediscan again over the first officer, watching for signs of waking. _Might as well make myself comfortable, too_, he thought with a sigh. He was liable to be in for a long wait...

ooOOoo

_He swam in the crystal oceans of Meredes, the pressure of the atmospheric field allowing him total freedom in the warm, pristine waters. This type of diplomatic mission was more like R&R than work; the Meredah were friendly, playful, highly intelligent people - and water-breathers, which explained the life-support field he and Spock wore to allow them access to the great cities far below the surface._

_With rude abruptness his breathing became painful, as though a giant hand was squeezing his chest in a relentless grip. Something was wrong! The pressure field - it had failed somehow, and the ocean's hundreds of pounds per square centimeter were pressing in on him like a slowly tightening vise - he couldn't breathe. He cried out weakly, the sound dying before it left his lips. _

Kirk felt sunlight on his face; he opened his eyes, squinting in the bright light. The azure sky above him reflected the sun's rays from white clouds moving lazily across his line of vision. _This isn't Meredes_, he quickly realized. He lay staring at the sight for some moments until the rocks jabbing in his back fully dispelled the lingering dream of the water planet. With effort, he turned over to one side, raising himself up on an elbow. All around him were hills - one wooded, some tilled. But the greater part of the land was pasture, great rolling hills that effectively blocked the view in any direction. The air was warm and spicy, alive with small flying insects glittering in the morning sun.

To his right was a giant, gnarled tree, very old by earth standards, its lower branches beckoning to the Iowa boy to climb up and get a look around. He rose to his knees, finding his breath come with some trouble and feeling as if a Belag had jumped on his left side. He shook his head, trying without success to dispel a lingering disorientation. Standing with difficulty, he walked carefully to the tree, each step bringing more effort than the one before it.

When he reached the ancient timber he grabbed for a low-lying branch, only to realize he would never make it up the tree. Pain sent rivulets of sweat down his temples and he felt his heart hammering. Too late, he tried to brace himself against the tree but collapsed, falling across its large, interlaced roots. Kirk cried out, his voice echoing hollowly amidst the hills; but the drone of the jeweled insects was his only answer.

ooOOoo

The Vulcan shuddered, his face contorting as he struggled to speak. Chekov leaned closer to try to comprehend - surely he had misunderstood! The first officer groaned audibly, alarming Pavel. Spock's breathing became labored and shallow; again he fought to speak.

"Hit me; hit me now! Quickly!"

Chekov cursed softly. _Scott never said anything about this!_ He checked Spock's vital signs; they had grown erratic. Spock had paled to an unnatural white, a sheen lf perspiration covering his forehead.

"They can only court-martial me," he muttered, and the young Russian struck a superior officer for the first time in his life. Spock inhaled sharply and whispered something barely audible - had he said, 'again'? Pavel shrugged resignedly and slapped him once more.

This time there was no mistake; Spock said, emphatically, "Again!"

Under orders now, the ensign cheerfully went about his duty until the Vulcan's fierce grip stopped his hand in mid-air. For a moment, as Chekov looked into fully cognizant black eyes, he saw his career in shambles, his name removed from Starfleet records for all time. . .

"That will do, Ensign," said Spock, obliterating the Russian's morbid thoughts. "Thank you."

"You are-welcome, Mr. Spock." Chekov offered a hand and pulled him up.

"Mr. Chekov, we seem to be alone."

"Yes, sir. Mr. Scott said the captain was missing and went to look for him." He pulled the strap of the tricorder over his head and held the unit out to the Vulcan. "He knew you'd be conscious soon and would be needing his readings and report." He watched Spock scan Scott's information. "Do we wait here, sir?"

Spock considered the situation a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Chekov thought he saw pain written there, but shrugged it off. If Vulcans were in pain, they certainly didn't admit it.

"I cannot answer that question until we determine our location."

"But Mr. Spock, the captain..."

Spock glanced at the wrecked door. A brief vision of Kirk, lying unconscious in his arms, flashed in Spock's memory, his friend's pain lancing through him via physical contact. His own features spasmed for a moment before he regained control. The captain. . . Blinking, he turned back to the ensign. "Mr. Scott will find him, if anyone can, Mr. Chekov. You and I, on the other hand, must concentrate on what has happened here and the possible ramifications. We should not be on this planet."

The Vulcan, finding all systems down on the shuttle, manually keyed open a panel and withdrew a set of Federation charts. Handing several rolls of flimsy copy to Chekov, he spread a sheet out on a blackened panel and activated the tricorder.

"According to these preliminary readings," he murmured, eyes on the tricorder screen, "the nearest densely populated area is approximately five point four kilometers east of here. Spock paused a moment and passed a hand over his eyes before he again let his gaze wander outside. "But where is _here_?"

_In the middle of nowhere_, Pavel thought, as he unrolled his own sheet.

ooOOoo

Scott saw him immediately, curled up as if asleep under the spreading arms of a large tree. _Like a kid on holiday_, he found himself thinking. _Holiday_. He was supposed to be on holiday, but this mission had come up. Kirk had asked for him specifically, though any good pilot would have done. For that matter, Kirk could have done the piloting and there would have been room for McCoy, and it would have been one big, happy family...

The engineer cursed himself, angry that his personal problems would surface now, when he needed to think clearly. He scurried down the hillside, heedless of outcropping stones and uneven ground, bent solely on reaching his C.O. Catching his toe on a stone, he fell sprawling; scrambling up again, his knees and elbows smarted with new abrasions. Absently, he wiped at the grime now covering him as he hurried over to Kirk. Kneeling, he gently shook the captain's shoulder. Kirk's eyes opened and widened in recognition.

"Scotty! Where did you. . . I was just. . ." The captain seemed at a loss for words as he got up - too carefully, Scot noticed - favoring his left side.

"I've just come from the shuttle, Captain. It was sheer luck I found you. We were all shook up a bit when she landed and you got away from us. I was afraid you were hurt."

Jim placed a hand to the back of his skull. "A bump on the head, I think." He shifted his weight, unsure of whether his legs would continue to hold him up, and cradled his ribcage. "Maybe bruised a rib or two." His eyes narrowed as he surveyed his engineer more closely. "What happened to you?"

"Me?" Scotty looked down in amazement at his befouled clothes, only now noticing the pungent aroma emanating from them. "Oh, no," he groaned reeling with chagrin.

"What is it? Are you hurt?" Kirk grabbed the Scotsman's arm in alarm, then stared in wonder as the engineer broke out in laughter. He withdrew his hand and gazed at it, his nose wrinkling at the smell. Slowly, his frown creased into a wry smile. "It's been a long time since I've come in contact with this particular specimen, Mr. Scott."

"Aye, sir," the engineer managed to say, trying with minor success to control his grin. "I'll wager you won't be shed of it anytime soon, either, at least until we can find some place to wash."

"Let's head back for the shuttle, then. Wonder what Spock will think of us?"

"No doubt he'll find us fascinating, sir."

"No doubt." He looked the engineer over again and let out a chuckle, instantly regretting it.

Scott saw the captain try to cover his discomfort. "Are you up to a walk, then?"

"I think so," came the reply. "Just take it slow."

They had reached the top of the rise when a darkness fell over the countryside, as if the sun were suddenly eclipsed. A strange shaft of green light streaked across the false night, accompanied by a vibrant humming, barely perceptible.

Instinctively, both men threw themselves to the ground, feeling very vulnerable in the stark openness of the barren ridge.

The great light grew more intense, with no discernable source that Scotty could see, but he felt his senses grow confused, as if he were experiencing the effect of a badly-adjusted transporter. Closing his eyes against the nausea which racked him, he failed to see the abrupt dissolution of the beam, but the fading of the humming sound alerted him that for now at least, they were safe. But safe from what?

He opened his eyes and stood up, the disorientation draining away slowly, leaving him wobbly. There was no sign of the beam of light, no sign of a disturbance of any sort. Had they experienced a probe of some kind? If they had it was of an enormous magnitude, far beyond his ken. It reminded him somehow of the energy field they had encountered before crashing...

The captain was struggling to stand at his side and Scotty leaned down to help him up. Kirk stifled a groan and bit his lip, managing only to stand in a crouch, hands on thighs.

"Captain, you're in no condition to walk back to the shuttle. I'll find a sheltered place for you to rest and bring Mr. Spock with me."

Kirk shook his head 'no' and slowly straightened. "Had the wind knocked out of me, Scotty, that's all." He glanced around worriedly. "What did you make of that?"

"An energy beam of some kind, though without my instruments I canna do more than guess. I thought for a moment someone was trying to beam us up."

Kirk nodded. "I had the same feeling, but it was like whoever was doing the beaming couldn't make up his mind which part of me to take first."

"Aye," answered the engineer, thinking it was high time to get back to the shuttle. The crash must have shaken him up more than he realized - he should have brought along a medikit. A hypo would have soon had the captain feeling more comfortable, but that would have to wait, now. "Come on, then. Let me help you." Kirk made no protest as Scotty slipped an arm around his waist and helped him down the long slope.

They had nearly made it to the bottom when they passed under a small outcropping, overgrown with vines and flowering rock-plants. Without warning, a whole section of it gave way, sending down a cascade of small rocks and dirt. Scotty jerked Kirk and himself back as quickly as his burden would allow, but did not make it clear of the falling debris. When the dust cleared, the two men lay sprawled among the rubble, unmoving.


	2. Chapter 2

"Have you made any determinations, Ensign?"

"Well..." The young Russian delayed his answer, shrugging. "It is very important to weigh all the facts."

"It is indeed," agreed Spock, placing his hands behind his back. "But when the weighing is complete, any further delay is no more than what the good doctor would call 'dawdling'."

Chekov cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. I have made an estimated guess on our altered route after the shuttle was. . ."

_What had happened? Had they been attacked, as Mr. Scott had first suggested? Or had they encountered a power surge so alien their sensors couldn't track it, or identify its source? _

He looked up at Spock, who watched him quizzically. ". . .when we lost power. Here's where we were," he said, pointing at a spot on the map where the shuttle had left the starcruiser Mason en route to Galesia, the eighth planet in the system. Moving his finger along an imaginary line, he traced a semi-elliptical trail which moved deeper into the system, then stopped. "Here is where we made our last course check before we encountered the energy field. If we plot along this, taking into account power loss and lateral trajectory, we can narrow our landing to one of these two planets." He tapped each of the two suspects, then straightened, waiting for Spock's more astute deductions.

"Logical." came the reply. "I concur."

The navigator swallowed a smile and bent once again over the map. "How do we determine which planet we are on? We can't ask the residents here. They probably don't even know worlds exist outside their own."

"That will perhaps be difficult, though not impossible."

"I don't understand. The Prime Directive. . ."

"True," agreed the Vulcan as he rolled up the flimsies and stored them away. "However, Galesi studies show both planets to be sparsely populated. There are no. . ."

"But, sir!" At Spock's raised eyebrow Chekov hurried on with his interruption. "Mr. Scott had no such information about populated planets. He. . ."

"Occasionally, Ensign, you will find that senior officers are privy to information that is, for whatever reason, not disclosed to subordinates. Does that explain the situation?"

Subdued, Chekov mumbled a 'yes, sir' and sank into a nearby chair.

"As I was saying, there are no large cities, and one of the planets is peopled by nomads. It should be relatively simple to determine whether this is the nomad planet or the agrarian one. If agrarian, the few villages and towns upon it should be located great distances from one another, with lightly populated farmland between them. The population is small; preliminary studies have shown little traveling between the distant towns."

Chekov's eyes lit up. "So if someone visited from another town, no one would question the way they dressed or talked."

"No. Nor would it necessarily surprise a nomad clan, who would be used to seeing strangers from time to time. Their curiosity would lie rather in the area of gossip - news of the outside. No doubt the sharing of stories and songs would bring the same enjoyment in this pre-electronic era as it did on Earth six centuries ago."

"But our uniforms." Chekov looked at his begrimed clothes and pointed to Spock's torn tunic. "We can't be sure they won't react to the strangeness of them, the difference of the material, not to mention their current condition."

"Which is why we will wear the diplomatic robes given to us by the Galesi government for the wedding ceremony. We will at least have some variety in our dress, and the material is woven, not synthesized. I suggest we change, Mr. Chekov." Spock reached into a small alcove and drew out a below-the-knee robe of emerald sateen and dark trousers, motioning for the Russian to do the same.

Not for the first time, Chekov wished he had not been selected by Kirk to accompany the entourage to the royal wedding on Galesia. The ceremony, both long and laborious, required that representatives from all associated governments be present – he had wondered if they would take offense that Starfleet personnel had been selected rather than Federation people. That possibility, along with the five-page dialogue he had been required to memorize (to be repeated verbatim during the ceremony) had given him just cause to object to the whole thing.

He looked at the costume held in his hands, his lip curling. It wouldn't have been so bad if he had been given subdued colours like the first officer, but this! The over-tunic was dandelion-yellow, with scarlet trousers; they bloused over his soft matching boots when he put them on. It seemed that Galesi youth favored the brighter colors - indeed, were expected to wear them. When he saw his reflection in a polished door his uncontrolled thoughts were of Muscovite circuses, dancing bears, and clowns. . .

They had finished dressing and begun assessing damage to the shuttle when Spock moved quickly to the door, listening. "Do you hear that, Ensign?"

Chekov shook his head, following Spock to the door to look outside. He could detect no unusual sound. But he did notice the birds had stopped their various cries and songs, and the air hung broodingly still over the area. It was then he saw a green "something" coming through the woods to his right, extending up into the sky as far as he could see. Natural light was all but eliminated as the shaft of greenness moved toward them, like a holographic tornado without wind.

About the same time he began to discern a faint humming, Chekov's legs suddenly gave way under him, sending him crashing to the floor. There was acute pain in his ankle and his teeth vibrated as if bombarded with sonics. Chekov grabbed the throbbing ankle with one hand and threw the other arm over his eyes.

Spock ran out of the shuttle, his ears ringing with the strident wail which accompanied the shaft of eerie light. The sound modulated in the higher decibels, well out of the range of human detection, and threatened damage to his ear drums. Pressing his hands over his ears, Spock watched to see if the beam was doing anything other than play over the countryside. There was no movement among the shrubbery, no alteration of the landscape of any kind. But he did notice an increasing discomfort as the beam drew nearer. He felt his pulse lengthen and blood pressure drop, followed rapidly by dizziness and disorientation. He backed up to the shuttle opening and sat in the doorway, powerless to do anything but watch the beam continue its approach for a few more seconds before withdrawing into the sky above him.

Light returned, birds began calling to one another - life resumed order. But Spock remained where he was, drained of all energy, too listless to speak to Chekov, who was obviously in distress. Finally, drawing on strength of will alone, he crawled into the shuttle, located a mediscanner, and played it over the Russian's ankle. As he concentrated on the young man, he felt some small measure of strength return.

"Mr. Chekov, is this an old injury?" His face registered puzzlement as he reviewed the findings of the field instrument.

Pavel drew his breath in sharply as Spock carefully examined the ankle. "Yes, but completely healed, Mr. Spock. It was on my 16th birthday; we were playing soccer and I. . ." It was Chekov's turn to look puzzled. "I did nothing to re-injure it, Mr. Spock. I was standing there, not moving, when I felt it give way. It just - snapped!"

Spock made a small adjustment on the scanner and played it over the ankle again.

"Was there major repair work done, Ensign?"

Chekov bit his lip and closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to exhibit a lack of control in the presence of Spock, and forced himself to answer. "Yes. The ankle was shattered; I lost some of the bone. Regen wasn't in common use in my small community, so they used tri-titanium to rebuild the ankle. Nothing short of an anti-matter explosion could destroy it." He reached up to wipe cold sweat from his face. "You could grind me to powder, but the ankle would still be there."

_Most curious_, thought the Vulcan as he administered an analgesic hypo. A metal alloy which should have lasted millennia was not gone - totally dissolved away. Chekov was left with an incomplete ankle. The bones were sealed over; there would be no regeneration, not naturally or otherwise. Illogically, Spock felt a pang of regret and empathy for the young man. He would be a cripple until they could get off this planet. For the moment, it was questionable whether he would be of any help in that regard. Spock found his thoughts muddled, his strength still depleted. Kirk was missing, Scotty roaming the countryside looking for him. They were all acting like children. And now, just when he needed his mental acuity most, it had deserted him as surely as had Chekov's indestructible ankle.

ooOOoo

The Chief Engineer of the U.S.S. Enterprise floated in space, rocking gently, his senses dulled. There was a soft murmuring sound around him, increasing his languorous sense of sailing. He lay in a small drifter on the seas of Meredes, waiting for Spock and Kirk to finish their diplomatic mission below. Amply supplied with technical journals and a make-shift sail rigged more for shade than propulsion, he should have been more than content to wait.

But his journals lay unread beside him. Instead he found himself wondering why he was still in Starfleet after all these years. But then again, he always got maudlin after one of his crew were killed or seriously injured. It was no different this time, he told himself. Lt. Pierson had been a fine officer, well on her way to engineering a ship of her own some day. Then there was the accident and, well, there it was. A life ended, a career over, and nothing to show for it but a letter home, a brief service and back to business, lads and lasses. He couldn't help but compare Kirk's coolness to his own despair at the memorial service. Yes, he knew Kirk cared, but he saw how the captain put the caring aside. Part of him envied Kirk that ability; part of him deplored it.

Now - the service and the letter home to parents who would never see their daughter again - all that was behind him. But Scotty couldn't forget. He had the unfortunate habit of getting to know everyone in his department. No problem there, but he couldn't stop at that. It was his nature to form ties with his people that could be called, unprofessionally, friendship_. Probably why I'd never make a good captain_, he thought. It was also probably why he was bothered by the fact that he wasn't in the inner circle of Kirk's limited friendships. _Why_ it bothered him, he wasn't sure. He tried not to think of it anymore and lay back in the drifter, letting the waves soothe him, take him away...but the murmurings continued, growing louder. . .

As he slowly came to consciousness, he perceived the rocking to be caused by the make-shift sling he was riding in, the murmurs to be the voices of those who carried him. It was twilight, as far as he could tell. The sides of the sling blocked his peripheral vision, but he could just discern two other individuals also bearing a burden in another sling like his own. He hoped it was Kirk they carried; he would not like to be separated again.

With the return of consciousness came the realization of pain. His whole body complained of the abrasions and bruises it had sustained in the earth slide. Carefully flexing his arms and legs, he was simultaneously conscious of the fact that, though he was not seriously injured, he was going to be mighty sore for awhile.

The trip seemed endless. He began to feel foolish letting himself be transported this way when a good walk might do his stiff muscles some good; yet again, he didn't know what these people thought of him and his captain and wasn't ready to let them know he was awake just yet.

And what of Kirk? Was he lying in that other sling, thinking the same thoughts, or was he unconscious, his previous injuries aggravated by the accident? Scott frowned. Accident, indeed! Why would the hillside give way just as they walked by? It was as if a booby trap had been set, a snare for some unwary prey, triggered by the vibrations of the passersby. By all appearances it should have remained as they saw it for hundreds of years, any changes infinitesimally small and gradual. Nevertheless, it had crumbled, as if the very substance had been removed from it. He was reminded uncomfortably that it was the second 'trap' they had encountered that day, the first being the unexplained energy field that waylaid their craft.

Well, no matter now. There was no way he could figure it out, and God alone knew how far he was being taken from the site. He wondered how Spock and Chekov were faring. Had they, too, seen the strange beam of light?

Scott's carriers began to talk; he was glad the translators had been sub-cranially implanted in the entourage before they began their journey to attend the wedding of the Galesi prince. Galesan was a difficult language to master - even Uhura, who was a natural at languages and their subtleties, had admitted she had had trouble learning it - thus the translators. There was some initial confusion as the device interpreted the language, then his comprehension cleared.

It never failed to fascinate the Scotsman how sub-cranial translators not only interpreted the language being spoken to the subject, but translated the subject's own thoughts into that language. Given a few minutes to listen, any person with such a translator could speak the native language fluently. Too bad they hadn't figured out how to make the knowledge permanent - a cranial translator, due to the nature of the biochemical elements from which it was made, could not remain in a subject more than eighteen months before it deteriorated, taking the knowledge of the language with it.

Oh well, he didn't plan to be here eighteen months, not by any means. If only he could get up!

There was a groan from the other sling. The carriers stopped, lowering Scotty and their other burden to the ground. The sides of the sling now flat beside him, Scotty could see that it was indeed the captain they were carrying. Kirk moved restlessly and didn't appear to be fully conscious, his breaths coming in short, tight gasps. One of the carriers was bending over him; there was a sudden flash as the newly risen moons reflected their light off a small, sharp blade. The engineer watched in disbelief as it was plunged into Kirk's chest.

"Here, now, none of this!" he cried, fumbling out of the confines of the sling and reaching for the knife. Arms grabbed him first, however, and held him back; voices urged him to be calm and wait - they were trying to help his friend.

"Help him? You idiots, you'll kill him! What does he think he's..." Scotty's mind registered somewhere amid his panic that the man had pierced the chest wall and was using a hollow tube, cut from a nearby stand of cane, to suck air from Kirk's chest cavity. It was routine first aid in Starfleet, but here...

Kirk's breathing became easier. The man who had used the knife applied a makeshift dressing, motioned Kirk's carriers on, then turned to Scotty. "I will have to stitch the wound when we get home, or the lung may collapse." He reached out his hand to the Scotsman, who found that his restrainers had let him go. Scotty grabbed the man's hand and was pulled up. "It is not too far. Are you able to walk, or would you rather be carried?"

Scotty glanced at the sling, then back at the man. "I'll walk." The man nodded and started off behind Kirk's sling, now some distance ahead. Scotty had some difficulty keeping up with him, but made no outward protest.

They walked for what seemed like an eternity to the weary engineer; the twin moons, one of them outdistancing the other, made their way across half the sky before the silhouettes of several buildings loomed on the hill before them.

Scotty was dimly aware of being led into a house and to a small pallet on the floor. He tried to think about where he was, who these people were, and what they were doing with the captain, but his mind was spiraling down into exhaustion; he fell onto the pallet and sleep took him.

ooOOoo

"Mr. Chekov, our progress would be a great deal faster if you allow me to carry you." Spock had turned on the path and waited, once again, for the lagging navigator. After spending the night in the shuttle, the two men had slowly made their way toward the small populated area showing on Spock's tricorder. They had made very little progress, though Spock doubted that, in his present condition, he would have been able to carry the ensign very far.

"That will not be necessary," answered Chekov, through clenched teeth. He knew he was making them lose time, but some deep pride would not yet let him succumb to being lifted and carried like a child. He still felt uneasy about leaving Scott and Kirk behind; frankly, he questioned Spock's judgement, though he hadn't yet voiced his concerns to the science officer, and was loath to put much distance between them and the shuttlecraft.

He shifted his weight on the crutch, hastily contrived from a tree branch, and tried to speed up his half-limp, half-hop gait. His good leg didn't appreciate the extra effort, and he was certain to have bruises and blisters under his arm by nightfall.

He drew up next to Spock and, without looking at him, continued on past. The Vulcan looked at his receding back for a moment, breathed out between pursed lips, and followed, finding the human capacity for stubbornness remarkable.

They would have to stop soon. Chekov, it was evident, was exhausted and in considerable pain. There were no bone fragments rubbing together as in a common fracture, but the muscles and tendons, bereft of bone mass and their usual points of attachment, had corded into massive knots of agony, pulling the phalanges and metatarsals of the foot into a grotesque configuration.

Days were shorter on this small planet and twilight was drawing in; Spock began to look around for a suitable place to spend the night. As he searched the horizon his eyes rested on a figure just topping a rise some quarter-kilometer distant, coming toward them. In the pre-moon gloaming Spock could make out that the person was alone, heavily robed, and carrying a staff of some kind. Chekov, by now, had spotted him, too, and waited a few strides ahead of Spock. It was a short matter of time before the man approached them.

He slowed, then stopped, speaking quietly to Chekov. The ensign replied, turning toward Spock, and motioned to him. The first officer approached the stranger, taking in the features and demeanor of a man in his prime. The stranger, turning from Chekov, bowed and greeted Spock.

The cranial translator sputtered for a second or two as Spock repeated the still un-translated phrase, bowing in like manner, one hand over his breast. Chekov said some halting words to the stranger and brief conversation ensued, during which time Spock's translator began to kick in.

Chekov was doing an admirable job of explaining their 'journey', seeking trade or vocation possibilities. Spock was quite willing to let him; a wash of weakness fell on him like water and he had to concentrate hard to remain on his feet. As the Russian spoke, his speech became increasingly fluent, as did Spock's understanding of the language.

It appeared that the stranger was a leader in a nearby village, and had been expecting them. Strange statement. No doubt the translator was not yet properly deciphering the colloquialisms of the language, or perhaps his own weakened condition had caused him to misunderstand.

The stranger was not too inquisitive, nor was he overly impressed with himself, as was too often the case with people in positions of authority, whether local or interplanetary. The man however did think of himself as an authority of some kind, having taken it upon himself to greet them and conduct them to a place of rest. Spock again wondered how the man knew they were coming, but for now was content to let him guide them to a small farmhouse where the stranger, who introduced himself as Jaresh, was apparently well-known and respected. There they were put up for the night.

Chekov, after receiving another hypo, slept the sleep of the innocent, free for awhile of pain. Spock, though he had many questions and concerns, found himself bone-weary and needing rest immediately. Dutifully, he fell asleep, rolled up comfortably between two children next to the dying embers of a kitchen fire.

Concerns and responsibilities could wait until tomorrow. Oblivion could indeed be mercifully sweet.


	3. Chapter 3

Jaresh sat up long into the night, chin in hand, watching the newcomers sleep. There was no doubt that these two were the ones whom were foretold, yet it remained difficult to sort out, especially since he received his starsongs in such bits and pieces. It had been a rare thing for him to see a whole picture at once; more often than not he would watch as it was put together little by little, in no apparent order, until the final masterpiece was revealed. The finished product was usually something quite different from what he had imagined.

He sighed, stirring the dying embers of the fire with a stick. To deny that his position as village oracle was seldom less than frustrating would be as meaningless as to deny its personal fulfillment. These two men for instance – 'outworlders' was the word that came to mind - how he knew they were not from his world, that they came from farther away than could be calculated or even guessed at, he did not know. He just knew. It was a knowing not of reasoning or logic, but a knowing deeper within himself. Yet he did not know why they were here, only that they were inexplicably linked with the future of his people, village folk and tillers alike. And now, as he watched the fire, he saw that there were two more men, separated somehow from the others. He sensed their existence, as a blind man senses when someone enters the room.

Instinctively he knew they were not enemies, this Spock and this Chekov (and their two unknown friends), though perhaps they were not that sure of him. After all, any trust which may develop must come naturally, over time, as they came to know each other better. But how much time did they have? The feeling of urgency came over him again, making him shudder. What _was_ it? Why was he so apprehensive? Was it because the four men must somehow be reunited? He had not failed to notice Spock's weakness, sense a slight confusion in the man. Perhaps he was having difficulty knowing what to do. Obviously, the younger man, Chekov, had not wished to come with Spock. Well, that changed things a bit. Tomorrow he would suggest they search for their missing friends, abandoning his original plan to bring them to the village.

He stretched, easing a crick in his shoulder, and tossed the stick into the fire. Better to stop speculating for now and follow his new charges' example. He would need his sleep tonight; he could not be sure of how much he would get over the next few days.

It did not take long for sleep to come.

ooOOoo

"You are in pan, friend Chekov?"

Chekov glanced over at Spock, who walked close enough to catch him should he fall, yet far enough away to be discrete. He swallowed to control his voice, taking a firmer grip on his crutch, before answering Jaresh. "I'm all right."

"That was not my question."

Damn, but he was persistent. "Yes, I - it is somewhat unpleasant," was his mumbled reply. Jaresh made Chekov uncomfortable; the young navigator had caught him staring at him at different times with a look of pity and tenderness which made him squirm. His offhand remarks about "giftings" and "starsongs" made him even less comfortable -- was he as harmless as he seemed, or were they traveling with a madman? There was something much deeper about him, something which Chekov wondered might be best left alone...

Retracing their steps to the shuttle didn't help his mood, either. All this walking for nothing! What was Spock thinking of, going off without waiting for word from Mr. Scott or the captain? Chekov's mobile features had settled into a dark scowl.

Spock rummaged in the medikit and pulled out the last analgesic hypo, brow furrowed in thought. It would be best to save it until tonight, when Chekov would need it most. Yet it seemed unlikely that the Russian would make it until nightfall; pain had greatly drained his physical strength and he was weakening fast. Before long he would have to be carried. He glanced at Jaresh, wondering if he would be willing to bear such a burden until they located Kirk and Scott.

He met the eyes of the oracle, who was studying him.

Jaresh moved closer to Spock, matching stride for stride; their pace slowed, allowing Chekov to move ahead. "He tires quickly, friend Spock."

"Yes."

"If only some type of brace could be contrived to relieve the muscle spasms."

"Such a brace is possible, Jaresh. I have the knowledge, but not the means." Spock looked away, studying the treetops. "I fail to understand why I did not take advantage of the materials left in the shuttl. . ." He stopped immediately, too late, lips compressed tightly. An eyebrow lifted when Jaresh laughed. Chekov stopped and turned around.

"Forgive me, friend Spock, but I have always known, from the first moment I saw you, that you were not from my world. No need asking me how I know." He turned to Chekov, raising his shoulders and hands to excuse himself. "I know."

A heartbeat later Spock resumed his dialogue. "There were materials in the wreckage of our craft which could have easily been assembled to take the strain off Mr. Chekov's limb. I fail to understand why I did not think of it."

"You find this behavior odd after a crash?" Smiling at Chekov's scowl, Jaresh continued, "You mentioned your craft being wrecked; there's a healing cut and a bruise along your hairline just there - it's a simple deduction, really." He turned back to the navigator. "You, however, did not injure yourself in the crash."

"How... how do you know?" Chekov felt his strength ebbing away; he propped his torso against a tree, easing his good leg.

"Easily enough, I dare say. I looked at your leg while you slept last night. No bruises, no broken skin or protruding bone. Something else has happened to your ankle, friend Chekov."

Pavel bristled at Jaresh's easy "friend Chekov." He was not Jaresh's friend; he didn't know him, wasn't sure he wanted to know him. He certainly didn't like the idea of the man leaning over him during the night! Where Chekov came from it was considered bad manners to call someone by his first name unless invited; this seemed no different. When he answered, his words were clipped, brittle: "Why don't you tell me what happened, then, _friend_ Jaresh. You have the gift, don't you? You read the stars; what do they tell you?"

But Jaresh's answer was forfeit when Pavel sank to the ground, his strength spent, unshed tears of frustration and pain glistening in his eyes. Chekov was gently moved into the shade of a nearby glen, given water and the last hypo. As he slipped into a light doze, Jaresh shoved Chekov's boot into his travel pouch and walked with Spock toward a farm in the distance.

"Yoi! Halloa!"

At Jaresh's hail Spock saw the door of the building in the distance open, a figure emerge. It stared a moment, then waved and halloed back. Jaresh escorted him onto the farm, introducing him as "friend Spock." Obviously this was custom here. It did not seem to be taken lightly, however, nor the meaning of the term lost in the colloquialisms of the language. These people seemed to accept the fact that all were friends here. An almost unheard of concept, even on Vulcan.

Though all violence and strong emotion had been laid aside ages ago, it was still a rare thing to call someone "T'hy'la", Friend. To do so without conviction and deep commitment would be unethical. Yet here, among the people he had met at least, he perceived it would be unethical to consider anyone anything _but_ a friend. Chekov was having his own personal struggle with that concept, but he was young and inexperienced in such matters; he would learn.

Jaresh and Spock were led into the building from which the man had come and shown some simple tools, lumber scraps, and strips of leather. Jaresh pulled Chekov's bright-colored boot from his travel pouch and handed it to Spock, who deftly split it down the side. He watched attentively as the Vulcan, using harness metal and padded lengths of wood laced into the boot with leather strips, formed a heel-to-knee brace which, theoretically at least, would stretch Chekov's tortured muscles back into something resembling normal. The farmer, who had also watched admiringly, would accept no payment for the materials used. It was his honor, he said to help the young visitor.

The sun was approaching the northern hills now; soon it would be sunset and Chekov would no doubt be suffering again. They made their goodbyes and walked quickly back toward the copse in the distance, the treetops just visible above the rise.

They walked without speaking, feeling the turn of the evening as the sun slowly set and the first stars came out. The smaller moon, newly risen, was a full disc of reflected light; its sister moon, her orbit farther out, would not appear until later. A double moon-rise would not be seen in this world except approximately every two months, two moons in the evening sky at the same time a more common sight. Spock knew this without being told; moon orbits were a primary subject in first-school sciences. Yet the sheer beauty of the double-moon last night had not escaped him. And now, though only one moon was visible at present, night magic was all around. In the dark, he was free to enjoy it.

In the distance, a little to their right, a few stray farm animals meandered their way homeward, surefooted in their habitual path. Their bovine-like plodding reminded Spock of the Terran cattle of Jim Kirk's Iowa. The sudden thought of his friend spilled over him like a Nordic blast; best to forget the beauty of the night and tend to Chekov. At least he could do something for him.

Spock was very much ill at ease. Questioning one's own judgement was normal for a Human; indeed he had observed it often in the captain, which made for sound decisions and tempered authority. But for a Vulcan, decisions based on logic were rarely questionable. Yet now he questioned them. Should he have left the shuttle behind, taking the injured Chekov with him? Should he have remained to study the energy field effect further? As Kirk was so fond of saying, "It seemed like a good idea at the time." But was it?

Spock took a deep breath, shaking himself mentally. Doubting his judgement now would only endanger them further. Going back to the shuttle did seem the best course of action. The sooner they could get their bearings, which Jaresh promised to help them do, the sooner they could find Jim and Scott and get off this planet.

They topped the rise. Jaresh could make out Chekov's form under one of the trees near the road. He had just started down the hill when Spock dropped the brace, throwing his hands over his ears and collapsing to his knees. Jaresh knelt beside him, only to turn toward the sound that now he, too, could hear. The green shaft of light, so dense it seemed almost tangible, moved toward them. A trembling began in his arms, quickly enveloping him until his stomach tied itself in a knot of agony. He heard a groan of pain, but could not tell whether it was Spock or himself who cried out. Then, for awhile, he knew only darkness.

ooOOoo

When Pavel woke the sun, just set, was sending red rays over the hills and through the silhouettes of the trees. Lighted insects gradually appeared and more unseen denizens of the insect world began their night songs, bringing a sense of stillness and rare beauty to the landscape.

Though the hypo was beginning to wear off, the Russian could not help but feel the effect of such beauty - untouched, for the most part, by the people who lived here. The few farms he had seen that day as they traveled seemed only large enough to support the families who lived on them. The rest of the countryside was left in the natural; anything that grew in these regions did so of its own accord. Yet he saw no weeds, thorns, or choking vines so often seen in the last remaining wildernesses on Terra. Here, what plants grew upon each other appeared more of a symbiotic than parasitic nature.

The air was sweet; he breathed it in, ignoring as best he could the growing pain in his leg.

Then he sat upright, pain forgotten, as the insect song ceased; the light creatures fell to the ground and disappeared. He discerned the growing sound of humming and turned his head to seek its source. There, in the distance, a green probe of light pierced the darkness beyond the trees. Chekov watched, mesmerized, as it slowly approached him.

ooOOoo

Jaresh awoke slowly and found himself, incredibly, still kneeling beside Spock, who lay unconscious on the ground. He felt for vital signs; finding them, he waited for Spock to awaken. When the Vulcan began to move, he offered him water and helped him to sit up. Spock's hands were trembling and he had difficulty swallowing the water. When he attempted to speak his words were slurred. This was of concern to Jaresh, whose own depleted strength was now returning.

"You are not recovering as quickly as I am, friend Spock."

"I will - be fine, eventually." Spock took a deep breath. "This is the second, perhaps the third time I have experienced the beam."

Jaresh jerked his gaze from Spock down the hillside toward Chekov. "And for him, as well?" Spock nodded, and Jaresh jumped to his feet. "I will be back," he called, as he ran down the hill, robes flying.

Spock, whose night-sight was many times more perceptive than Jaresh's watched the oracle talk to Chekov, maneuver the boot-brace onto his leg, and tighten the straps. After a minute or so to adjust, Chekov was helped into a standing position, then slowly aided up the hill, Jaresh steadying the Russian with one hand and carrying the crutch with the other. By the time they had reached him, Spock's trembling had for the most part ceased, and his mind had begun to clear. He still felt incredibly tired, however, as if he had gone for days without food or sleep during a fasting cycle.

Jaresh helped Chekov to sit, both of them winded, and turned to Spock. "Our young friend is little the worse for wear. He says the beam did not come that close."

"No, it didn't," said Chekov, irritated. He preferred to give his report to Spock without a go-between. "It moved around a little, as if it had no particular compass, then withdrew as quickly as it came. The only effect I could tell it had on me is an earache, like I'd been caught between untuned sonic resonators. But that's passing." He noticed Spock's less than elegant position on the grass. "Are you all right, Mr. Spock?"

"I seem to be a bit - depleted, Ensign, but am beginning to feel some energy return. Jaresh and I were, after all, closer to the beam, which appears to have a residual effect whether one is caught directly in the green light or not. Obviously, there must be a far greater band of energy which is not visible to the naked eye, therefore. . ."

"Friend Spock," interrupted Jaresh, laying a hand on Spock's shoulder. "You forget I was in the same proximity of the beam as you. Yet I am fine while you are still weak. You indicated the effects of the beam could be cumulative?"

"That is a possibility, Jaresh, although I do not have enough data to prove it. Mr. Chekov also suffered the same exposure, yet he seems to have recovered quickly enough." Spock made an attempt to stand and failed, slumping back to the ground with a look on his face close to amazement.

Jaresh studied him a moment and pulled the strap of his travel pouch over his head. "I have an herb that serves as a mild stimulant, friend Spock. It's a leaf which can be made into teas, or simply crushed with the teeth and held under the tongue for a few minutes. I don't believe it will hurt you, since it was in the drink you had this morning at the farmer's house. However, taken under the tongue, undiluted, it will have a quicker, more pronounced effect. I have it here. . . "

Jaresh trailed off as, rummaging in his bag, his hand landed on what had been a small metal tumbler, used for drinking water from streams and springs. He held it up in the strong moonlight for all to see. Even as he held it up, it crumbled in his fingers, as if it had suffered the wear and tarnish of hundreds of years.

"This is two months old," he murmured, amazed. "Matrel, the village metal-crafter, made it for me as a gift. What has happened to it?"

"What was it made of?" asked Chekov, taking the tumbler in his own hand and feeling the fragility of its makeup. The slightest pressure fractured it into small pieces.

"Strignate and parnum, two fairly rare minerals. Bonded, they form a strong metal that is resistant to corrosion and bending. I still cannot believe what I see."

"Strignate and parnum. I am not familiar with these metals, Jaresh. May I... "

Spock hesitated, considered what Jaresh had already surmised about the travelers as well as the oracle's discretion among the country-folk they had come across, then made his decision. "May I run a test to see if your metals coincide with any others we are familiar with?"

At Jaresh's nod, Spock pulled out the hidden tricorder and scanned the cup as Jaresh filled him in on the properties of the two metals. A jet eyebrow went up.

"What is it, Mr. Spock?"

"The first metal Jaresh described, strignate, is completely unknown to me, Mr. Chekov," began Spock, pointing to the readout. "However, the other, parnum, matches a common metal found on Terra and Vulcan, the outworlds which Mr. Chekov and I call home, Jaresh," he finished, nodding at their guide. "There are only traces of the parnum left, now."

The Vulcan handed the cup back to Jaresh, replaced the tricorder, and pulled out the field scanner. He played it over Jaresh, Chekov, and then himself. "That explains it," he said, checking the final readings. He put the scanner away and turned to Jaresh. "You would not know anything about the biological base of Vulcans, my race. Our blood is unlike human, or your blood, Jaresh. It is copper-based. However, like humans, if the base of our blood is depleted, we become anemic until our systems are able to produce more copper-rich plasma. If our blood becomes too depleted of copper, we die."

Jaresh looked at the distorted remnant of a once-beautiful work. "And this second metal, the parnum, that was ripped from the structure of this cup..."

"Is copper, Jaresh. Pure copper."


	4. Chapter 4

He awoke with a sense of deja vu, the early dawn sounds of a stirring farm, nudging gentle memories of his early years at his great-grandmother's home in the Scottish highlands. Though the animals were different, sleepy wake-up sounds apparently weren't. He found himself smiling, half-expecting to smell the porridge as it came to a boil.

Sharp aches and pains soon reminded him of where he was, however, as he turned over to look out the low window beside his pallet. The un-risen sun had not yet eclipsed a star or two still twinkling in the lightening sky. Dew lay heavily on the fields and the earth had a sweet, just-turned smell. Scotty walked to the window and leaned out, breathing deeply and forgetting his complaining muscles.

Gerain was already up, walking across the yard to an outbuilding. Down below, in the small kitchen, he could hear Gerain's wife, Serin, as she prepared breakfast. She hummed to herself as she worked.

Scotty stood erect and stretched again. Another day or two in the fields with Gerain would soon unknot all his discomforts. And with Kirk lying sick in the room off the kitchen where Serin could keep an eye on him, he couldn't go anywhere for a few days, anyway. He glanced at a distant hill, half-expecting Spock and Chekov to come walking over the top. Not for the first time. For now, however, any search for them would have to wait. He sighed, letting his eyes rest on Gerain, who now washed himself under a pump in the yard.

Gerain was the man who had pulled Scotty to his feet two nights ago, ministered to Kirk. It had been his house where the engineer had fallen in a stupor to sleep away the night and half the next day and wake with the appetite of two men.

Scott had met several people that first day, whether relatives of Gerain or his wife he was not told. It seemed a family; everyone had his or her own work to do and did it willingly, yet there was a bond between them that suggested more than the usual relationship between farmer and field workers. They took their meals together, and though Serin prepared the meals, everyone took a hand in serving and taking up. There was quiet, though amiable conversation, with even the youngest taking part before she fell asleep in her soup bowl. The mother took the child into her lap and finished the meal with the girl cradled in her arms.

When the meal was over and the people, including Gerain, had returned to their work, Serin had taken Scotty into the back room to see Kirk. It wasn't good, he could see that at first glance.

Serin had removed a wet cloth to reveal a deeply bruised and contused area over the left ribs. There was a small wound just below it, between two unbroken ribs.

This must have been Gerain's work, when he relieved the pneumothorax. The wound was neatly stitched, and Scotty could see that Serin had cleansed the area and was applying poultices to the battered flesh. Under the circumstances, Kirk was getting the best possible treatment.

But would it be enough? Jim lay in a sheen of sweat, his breathing shallow. The usual golden glow of health was gone from his face and his head moved restlessly on the pillow. He did not open his eyes.

The engineer's thoughts were interrupted when Serin drew near, looking up at the Scotsman.

"I am sorry your friend is so ill, friend Montgomery. He is feverish because of the wound, and has lost some blood. The broken ribs and other injuries cause him much pain, so it is best he is not awake just yet."

"Ye canna bind him, I suppose," he began, his brogue thick with empathy. He had suffered broken ribs more than once himself. "Until the wound begins to heal."

"Yes," she said, nodding, and patted the Scotsman's arm distractedly as she turned back to her patient, applying another clean poultice. "There is so much swelling; the poultices will help reduce that. I am giving him herbs for the fever."

Scotty moved up behind her, looking over her shoulder at Kirk's unconscious face. "Serin, I see you're skilled in the medicine of your people, so please don't think I'm being unkind when I ask this. Do you know about infection - the invasion of harmful bacteria into the body - what it does to a person?"

Serin turned back to face the Scotsman, unflinching. "I do some, friend Scott. Your friend - what is his name?"

"James."

"James fights the invasion even now. Gerain had to use unprotected methods to remove the air from the chest cavity; he thinks the fever may have something to do with that."

"Oh, I don't know. We call it pneumonia where I come from. All kinds of it. All kinds of things can bring it on. . . "

She looked at him strangely, cocking her head to one side. "You must come from very far away, you and your friend."

"Why do you say that?"

Serin was thinking of the strange clothing the two men were wearing when they first arrived, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, then shrugged. "We did not expect to see signs of infection."

"But you do know how to fight this, don't you, Serin?"

Serin busied herself suddenly, tidying the already immaculate room, mumbling a reply Scotty couldn't make out. He touched her shoulder and turned her to face him. She looked at the floor, at Kirk, then back at Scotty. She straightened her shoulders. "I have little experience with infections."

"What do you mean, Lass? You live, work on a farm, with farm animals and tools. Accidents happen. You can't mean you don't have infections among your people!"

Serin signed, wrung out a cloth in cool water, intending to sponge down the fevered captain. Instead she sat on the edge of the cot and let her hands fall limply between her knees. Scott felt a niggle of cold slither its way down his spine as she looked up at him.

"We don't, friend Montgomery. With rare exceptions, we are immune to every known bacteria on this world."

ooOOoo

"He will be able to travel in a couple of hours, after he has rested. It's good to see him so much relieved."

Spock looked up from his brooding perusal of the fire Jaresh had built. Jaresh leaned back against a tree and began tossing twigs into the fire.

"It is gratifying, Jaresh."

"I am not sure he likes to be beholding to others, however."

"Beholding?"

"He does not like having things done for him. Have you not noticed that as you have worked with him?"

Spock cleared his throat. Such directness usually startled him, then put him on his guard. But Jaresh, on the other hand. . . Spock fought the strange urge to smile. "He is young, Jaresh, and fraught with the impulsiveness and pride of Humans."

"Yet you like him."

Again that directness. He found it refreshing. "I hold him in my regard, Jaresh. I respect him and honor our differences."

"That is what I thought."

Spock straightened, grasped a good-sized stick and began stirring the fire with it. "It is not customary on Vulcan to like someone with undue haste, Jaresh. We have no work in our language to correspond to your word 'like'."

"Yet you have acquaintances whom you call friends, do you not?"

Spock stopped stirring. "I do."

"And with what do you regard these friends, if you have no word for 'like'? What term do you use to express the feelings you have for them?"

"We hold the controlled expression of feelings, Jaresh, in highest esteem. It is not likely we would express feelings of any kind to a friend. It is not necessary to express something that is moot."

"So, having a friend is a serious thing on Vulcan?"

"Most serious."

"And you think perhaps we do not hold our friendships here as seriously?"

Spock broke the stick in two and lay the pieces on the dying fire.

"Initially, perhaps, but now - I don't know."

"Perhaps your people and mine simply approach the same truth from opposite ends, friend Spock. Friendship is serious, and dangerous. And most rewarding."

Jaresh leaned forward, the fading firelight casting shadows upon his face. "Tell me truthfully now. Would you give up your friends for gain, or to avert harm to yourself?"

Spock locked eyes with this man - this one who reminded him more and more of someone he did indeed call 'friend' - and drew himself up. "Not for anything, friend Jaresh," he replied. "Not for anyone."

ooOOoo

Black-winged creatures sat in dead trees above him as he walked; briars and bracken slowed his progress and tore at his clothing. The wind was cut off by the tangled undergrowth; the air was stale and breathing became more difficult as he pushed on.

Jim Kirk paused, grasping drunkenly at a twisted vine for support. There was no sign of an end to this terrain; he could not find his way to the top of any rise. Each time he moved toward higher ground, it gave way to still deeper trenches in the dank earth. Twilight reigned - no star, no moon, no real light of any kind existed - just this sad, grey world pierced only by the silhouettes of dead trees and black creatures floating silently from tree to tree.

"Spock!" he called. The deadwood around him absorbed the sound of his voice like a sponge. There was no answer. After all this time, he knew there would be none. Yet he called again. "Spock!"

ooOOoo

"Who does he call, Serin?" asked her husband, wakened during the night by the cries of Scott's friend.

"Someone called Spock. Do you think he tries to say Scott?"

"I don't know. I had better bring him here."

Serin looked down at the grey-pallored man in her charge. "I think that would be wise."

ooOOoo

The heat and lack of air increased. Kirk was forced to a half-crawl to make any headway. The thorns scratched his face and hands and his breath grew ragged as he fought the undergrowth. He was getting very tired.

There was a low outcropping of stone in the distance - he could just make it out in the increasing darkness. If he could reach it, he felt sure the air would be better. Perhaps he could get his bearings. Gathering his tattered strength, he pushed, fought and clawed his way to the base of the outcropping, then began to climb up.

He was right about the wind. He could feel it moving more briskly around him as he climbed, the brisker currents cooling his face a bit. The climb was arduous, his hands, elbows and knees taking punishment as he slipped on the uneven surface of the rock.

As he neared the top, the wind picked up even more, blowing dirt into his eyes and stirring up wild moans among the writhing tree limbs. He drew himself up over the last ledge and lay flat upon the top, panting. The wind, screaming now in gale-force, whipped his hair and torn clothing like a flag at sea. He rose to his knees, trying to see into the distance.

There - what was that? A light - a real light! If only he could see. . . He stood up shakily, buffeted by the wind, trying to shield his eyes from flying debris.

There it was again! Like a running light on a ship.

The wind changed direction abruptly, striking him from behind. He stepped forward involuntarily, his foot slipping on the edge of the rock. He fought to gain his balance, wavered for a moment on the edge, and fell.

ooOOoo

The chief engineer of the Enterprise wandered in his own nightmare, reliving the events of the aborted Meredes mission. One minute he had been lying, daydreaming, in the drifter; the next Spock was bobbing to the surface, sputtering as the waves splashed over him, hauling an unconscious Kirk into the drifter.

In the ensuing melee of emergency calls to the ship, beaming, transfer to sickbay, Scotty was drawn along, assisting with the captain's limp body, throwing a blanket over Spock's shoulders, communicating with the bridge with messages for Meredes officials. But what stood out was that, involved as he was, he was still on the outside. Yes, he had felt concern for the captain, but it was Spock who held Kirk's head between his long fingers, reaching for him. He wanted to help and did help, but it was McCoy who had whisked Kirk away into the confines of sickbay, leaving the Scotsman in the outer room to wait or go as he pleased. He had waited, and had fallen asleep sprawled in an uncomfortable chair and leaning his head against the wall. . .

"Scott, wake up!" He felt himself rudely shaken and looked up into Gerain's troubled eyes. "It is your friend, James. He needs you."

Shaking off the effect of the dream, Scotty followed Gerain down the stairs as quickly as he could in the dark. A sense of doom, which had grown steadily as the day drew on and now heightened by the nightmare, hung heavily upon him now.

Once in the kitchen he could see the candle-glow in the next room and went immediately in. Serin sat next to Kirk but did not look up. "He has taken a turn, Gerain. I am afraid for him."

Scotty's Celtic mysticism, usually kept in check by an engineer's pragmatism, now held full sway. He lingered in the doorway, seeing the end approach for his friend and feeling the eerie dread of his ancestors encroach upon him. Gerain, sensing his hesitation, approached him. "He nears death, friend Montgomery. You will want to help him on his way?"

Scott flinched, his eyes flashing ire and fear. "What do you mean, help?"

"To ease his way. Is this not what you do, if you would die from the world?"

"I don't understand you, Gerain. We all have to die. It doesn't mean we _want_ to!"

Gerain looked dumbfounded. "You mean you have no _choice_?"

The silence lay between them before Scotty spoke: "Do you?"

Before Gerain could answer, Kirk began to speak, his words unintelligible at first. Then Serin thought she heard him call that strange name once more. "He calls for Spock again," she said, moving away from the cot so that Scott could come nearer. Still he hung back.

"Aye, his first offi. . . his friend."

"Where is this friend Spock?"

"Lost."

"As you were lost when we found you?"

"Yes."

"Why does he call Spock?"

Scotty crossed his arms and cleared his throat. "Because Spock is his best friend."

Gerain looked puzzled. "Best?"

The Scotsman found himself growing irritated with his gentle host. Kirk lay dying before his eyes and all they wanted to do was ask him questions. "Best," he blurted. "Closer than other friends - safe, kindred spirits."

Serin motioned Scotty over to the cot. "Does he wish friend Spock to help him?"

Scott considered recent history, adventures on and off the ship during this five-year mission. He found himself smiling. "Aye, lass, he does, but not in the way you mean."

"Friend James does not choose to die, then?"

A light came into the engineer's eyes. "No, he does not! I don't know why I thought otherwise. What's the matter with me? I haven't thought straight since the cra. . . since we got lost." He turned to Gerain. "Can you help me get back to where you found us?"

"Assuredly, friend Scott. If we use the cart, we can be there in three candles."

"Then let's go! Not far from where you found us is something that can help Jim."

"I'll ready the beast. You get some water and bread from the kitchen. Serin will help you."

Gerain left the room. Serin moved toward the kitchen, but Scott stopped her. "No, lass. You stay with him. He'll be needing you." He looked into her eyes, grasping her hands in his own. "Don't leave him. Don't let him be alone."

Serin squeezed Scott's large brown hands with her little ones. "Rest assured," she whispered. "Be at peace about that."


	5. Chapter 5

The older moon had moved below the trees, silhouetting them with its pale blue light. The newer moon, just rising, played tag with the shadows cast by the old, waiting for the next hour when her light would reign fully over the landscape.

Spock and Jaresh openly supported Chekov now. Though his pain was considerably decreased, the effort of walking over poorly lit terrain caused the young navigator to stumble with fatigue.

Jaresh heard the harsh breathing of both Chekov and Spock. His brow knit in worry as he considered Spock's tightly set jaw. The Vulcan was moving on strength of will alone, it was evident.

The oracle looked ahead, night-vision improving steadily as the new moon ascended. Friend Spock and told him to look for a vehicle of sorts - white in the moonlight, box-shaped. Friend Pavel, attempting humor, remarked it would not appear as white as it used to. Poor man. He was guided by some sense of decorum that kept him closed - aloof. He could not yet allow himself to accept Jaresh at face value.

As they walked, he again felt the urgency to hurry, to get to wherever it was they were going, to make an end of this. He felt as though this were only the beginning, a start, where all the pieces of the puzzle must be accounted for before they could be assembled. If only they could move faster!

Spock moved as if in a daze. Since his last encounter with the energy beam, he could not shake the feeling of lethargy which consumed him. He sensed Jaresh's urgency and shared it. He should not have left the shuttle, that was certain. In another day, Jaresh would have found them. No matter postulating why the oracle knew they were there - as Jaresh had said, it was simply a fact. Perhaps the last contact with the energy field could have been avoided altogether. Perhaps Scotty would have returned with the captain. He hated the uncertainty of what had happened to his friend, hated that he had not gone after him himself. He had felt the captain's pain before the crash; he knew the extent of his injuries. . .

Jim.

He tripped over a stone and fell to his knees, dragging Chekov with him. Jaresh alone held on, bracing the Russian as best he could before lowering him to the ground as well.

"We should rest awhile, friend Spock. You are exhausted," admonished Jaresh, although his heart still pressed him every second to hurry, _hurry_.

"We must continue, Jaresh. It isn't far. We can rest on board and have shelter for the rest of the night."

Jaresh agreed with Spock, though it seemed better to stop here. "Let me help you." He reached for Spock's arms and pulled him up. He was about the same height as the Vulcan and, for a moment, they stood eye to eye. "You feel it, too?"

Spock blinked, tried pulling a straight face, then gave it up. He was too tired to try. "My race is gifted, more or less, with touch telepathy, Jaresh. I did not deem it expedient to disclose that information before; I did not know if your people would consider this trait as something to be shunned."

Jaresh smiled. "I see. Because we are, well - backwards - you feel we may see things out of our reckoning as forbidden. I perceive you have encountered that on other worlds." At Spock's nod he continued: "We do know of some practices that, for our own reasons, we avoid. But how could we shun such an obvious gift? Only if you were to use it for personal gain or knowledge would it be questioned. I have little doubt we could accuse you of that. I see then, that you share my feeling

that we must make haste." He reached down for Chekov, who was on his hands and knees. Spock mirrored him, and they soon had the navigator standing again. The young Russian was practically asleep on his feet, however, and they half-walked, half-dragged him the last hour's march to the shuttle.

"There it is!" exclaimed Chekov, just as Jaresh himself spotted the vehicle. He stared at it avidly as they approached. So this was a ship that could navigate the vacuum beyond his world - a vessel enabling mortals to travel the byways of the infinite. He trembled at the thought, his face breaking into a broad grin as he contemplated exploring its interior.

"Quiet!" hissed Spock, quickly pulling the other two men into the shadow of some underbrush. Jaresh wondered at his caution, then heard with his own ears the sound of approaching footsteps. His frown disappeared as he recognized the sound of Gerain's bells set in motion by his beast. He stood recklessly and called out, though he could not yet see who was coming. Spock did not realize - there was no one to fear on this planet. The fear, whatever it was, came from above -

in the star-peppered world Jaresh so longed to see.

Spock watched Jaresh bolt forward and grab the arms of the man who had leapt out of the cart as it emerged from the shadows. The man greeted him with affection and quickly introduced him to the other man who had come along. The Vulcan recognized the voice, and then the face, before Jaresh had been introduced. He stood, too, and went forward to greet Scotty. It was all he could do to prevent himself from running. He did not refuse Scott's outstretched hand.

"Mr. Spock! You're a sight for sore eyes, man!"

Spock refrained from a retort, content to let the Scotsman's emotions speak for both of them. There were hasty introductions, explanations, and many questions.

Jaresh was disposed to ask several of them until Spock interposed.

"Mr. Scott, how is the captain?"

"Not good."

Spock's eyebrows flattened. Chekov, sobered by the news, turned and hobbled to the shuttle to retrieve any remaining medical gear which might be of help.

"I canna soften it any, Mr. Spock. Jim's in a bad way. His injuries were aggravated by a rock-slide; we were caught in that daft green energy thingy. . . He's carrying a high fever now - not in his right mind. Serin, Gerain's wife, is nursing him, but she's not familiar with infections. Says there are practically none here!" he added, incredulously.

Jaresh nodded in agreement. "There is no time to lose, friend Spock. We can sort out all the unanswered questions later. I must tend to your friend before he weakens further."

Spock once again stood on the edge of perplexity. The energy field. It was the cause of the crash, of their coming here at all. It was connected with this planet, though Jaresh had said he had never encountered it before. Jaresh was convinced that the outworlders had come here for a purpose, and that he was to help them achieve that purpose. It was hard to reconcile that belief with the

fact that they were more than likely victims of circumstance.

But no matter. Puzzlement and unknowns aside, his captain, his friend, lay dangerously ill some distance away. Energy field or not, command or not, right now Jim Kirk came first. They would come back tomorrow to try to get the sensors back on line. Tonight friend James needed them.

Chekov and Spock were bundled into the cart while Scott and Gerain walked ahead, urging the cart-beast to a faster pace. Spock made little protest. He knew he was as incapable of making good time on his own two legs as Chekov. Chekov, on the other hand, made no protest at all. He lay in one corner of the cart, fast asleep on the hay.

ooOOoo

Serin changed the cloth on the sick man's forehead, checked the wound, now closed and healing, on his chest. She placed the back of her hand to his cheek and felt the febrile heat of his illness. Whatever she had thought initially, the disease that had invaded his body was not from Gerain's handiwork, it was now plain. The heaviness of his breathing spoke of a distress in his lungs. He

lay near death, and she was powerless to help him.

It was accepted among her people that illness and death were a rarity, though there were tales of other peoples subject to frailties of their bodies. She had always considered them just that - stories - until Gerain had brought friend James here for her to tend. As soon as she lay eyes on him she knew he was in trouble.

Kirk cried out in delirium, clutching at the covers and half-rising from the bed. Serin pushed him back down, talking softly as she would to a child to comfort a nightmare, marveling at the strength of the man as he resisted her. If the delirium became worse she might not be able to restrain him.

Strange what fever did to a man. She watched him live out whatever he saw in his mind, watched him struggle against whatever it was only he could see - saw his desperation, his pain. Tears of empathy lay unshed in her compassionate eyes.

The candles burned low, then sputtered out. Pre-dawn glimmered on the horizon.

Serin sat up from a half-stupor and only just prevented Kirk from falling on his face as he crept from the bed, his eyes glazed and unblinking as he stared at something she could not see.

"Spock!"

Serin turned, still holding the kneeling Kirk in her arms, half-expecting to see this fantasy-being enter the room. But it was only friend Montgomery, who helped her lift Kirk and place him back on the bed. Serin heard others enter the room, but her attention was on her charge. Kirk had grabbed Scott's arm and called to him, but it was Spock's name on his lips, Spock's face he seemed to see, not Montgomery's. She saw acute pain on the Scotsman's face for a moment before compassion washed it away.

"Spock's here, lad. Dinna ye worry. Quiet, now."

Serin noticed that friend Montgomery's tone and way of speaking changed when he was upset or deeply moved. The engineer's voice was soothing now as, with further words of assurance, he was able to quiet Kirk. Serin rose from the floor where she had knelt beside the bed. Only then did she look at the people now assembled in the small room.

Jaresh and Gerain she passed over with a nod, moving out of Jaresh's way as he approached the sick man. She saw a tall, dark individual dressed in the clothing of a noble. He did not remove his hat, but his bangs revealed the color of his hair - black, like his troubled eyes. He gave her a brief nod before locking his gaze onto friend James. Her attention then focused on the second stranger, a small, younger man of serious demeanor who studied his surroundings carefully.

Catching his eye, she smiled at him, received a half-smile in return. This one was injured apparently, as he leaned wearily on a staff contrived to fit under his arm. Silently, she brought a chair to him and lowered him into it. He accepted the help without a word, but his dark eyes flashed a look of gratefulness before turning to Jaresh and his charge.

It was a strange ensemble. Seven people - observers and the observed - measured time in the performance of the death-watch. Serin had seen it twice in her lifetime. It was a solemn but beautiful thing to behold. True, the tall stranger did not seem to know the observances, though his demeanor was appropriate. He and Jaresh conferred over the now silent patient whose breathing had grown more shallow and weak. The stranger administered something to friend James, using a

silver cylindrical instrument, while Jaresh had her mix some powders he gave her with hot water.

This Jaresh gave to James with a spoon, though not without difficulty and not without spilling as much as he was able to get into him.

The sun climbed steadily; Serin could hear the others going about morning duties - yet the six remained, watching the one. The breathing faltered, stumbled on, then stopped. The tall one and Jaresh exchanged glances. The tall one administered another injection and Jaresh laid his ear over James' heart.

"Nothing," he said.

The tall man swallowed, looked at the hypo. "I can't risk another stimulant, and if I try CPR it could drive a rib through the lung or heart."

Jaresh looked at him for a moment, then at James. "I have not come all this distance, nor have you, to see your friend die in this manner. I do not believe he would choose this end."

Scott stepped forward. "You're right. Jim wouldn't choose it. Not now - not this way. You must believe that."

Jaresh believed it. He placed both hands on Kirk, taking care not to touch the injured ribs, and looked at the people in the room.

"You who love and esteem this man, place your hands upon him," he said.

Chekov, seated away from the rest, was not surprised to see Spock lay his long fingers on Kirk's face. Nor was he particularly surprised to see Scott touch the captain's arm. Those two had known Kirk far longer than he, could lay claim to a relationship with him. But he was just someone on the bridge, a fairly new addition to an established crew. He admired Kirk, yes, and respected him, but to go so far as to claim affection was presumptuous. He sat in the chair, clenching the arms with knuckle-white strength.

But what was this? The other people, their names he could not remember, were surrounding the captain, placing their hands upon him. What claim did they have on Kirk?

"Mr. Chekov." The Russian glanced up into the Vulcan's bottomless eyes, saw something there... "Jim needs you, too."

He rose from the chair, stumbling on the damaged ankle. The woman looked up and motioned to him, taking him by the arm and drawing him into the circle.

Hesitantly, he placed a hand upon Kirk's body.

Jaresh closed his eyes and waited. He called forth no power, uttered no incantations. He only waited, as he did for the starsongs. Sometimes they came. Sometimes they didn't. He waited, remaining open, alert, expectant. This sense of expectancy permeated the room; everyone seemed affected by it. The silence was complete.

And so it was that everyone heard the first ragged intake of breath.

Chekov opened his eyes to see another, stronger breath drawn. Then another - and another. Slowly, everyone removed their hands from Kirk - Spock last of all and tentatively, as if fearful that if he were to remove his touch altogether Kirk would stop breathing again.

Jaresh rose from the bedside, moving slowly. He looked at Gerain. "He'll need water now," he began, turning his eyes to Serin as Gerain left the room. "And some broth. He's very weak." He stumbled wearily, falling against Chekov. The navigator managed to keep his balance and helped Jaresh to his vacated chair, surprised at the man's sudden weakness. Somehow in touching him, sensing his vulnerability, Pavel realized that Jaresh was just a man, not a demagogue, and he perceived his own bigotry against him. Shame kept him silent as he observed Scott and Spock confer near Kirk's sleeping form.

Jaresh, under Chekov's quiet vigil, slowly shook off his pall of fatigue and looked up at the Russian, who was at that moment watching Kirk. "He will live, Chekov. It will no doubt take longer than it would if you could get him back to your civilization, but the turn has been made - he will mend."

Spock, overhearing Jaresh's words, motioned for him and Chekov to follow him from the room. Scott followed on their heels, leaving Kirk to Serin's care.

Morning was fully blown. A pre-dawn shower had left the world washed and sparkling, an azure-blue sky harboring a fluffy white cloud or two. Chekov stretched, feeling the weight of the previous night and all its worries leave him. His body still ached and complained of ill-treatment and lack of sleep, but his mind was clear, his thoughts hopeful. Amazing what a little sunshine could

do for you.

Gerain joined them in the yard outside the house. Jaresh took time to properly introduce Spock and Chekov to the man who had afforded Scotty and the captain his hospitality and help. He also briefly explained their plight; Spock raised an eyebrow but otherwise made no protest when Jaresh told the absolute truth to Gerain. One might have thought he had told Gerain they were workers on the next farm instead of space travelers who had crashed their vehicle on his world.

But Gerain was no simple farmer; Spock was convinced of this. Scotty had told him of his medical abilities, despite the lack of materials and technology. Spock had sensed the man's intelligence upon their first meeting when they greeted each other. Educated, as well, though in a non-technological way - expected in such a social structure. He had also sensed the same regard for

others he had in Jaresh. This civilization would bear closer study - the high development of compassion and genuine concern for others reminded him strongly of Gem and her yet untouched homeland peopled with empaths.

Unfortunately, he was not to be allowed the privilege or, if he could express the feeling - pleasure - of studying Jaresh's people. He and Chekov must go back to the shuttle and attempt to check on the homing beacon, which should have been activated automatically upon crashing. He wanted to look at the sensor array to see if anything could be brought back to life. He had only to look at Chekov's braced ankle to be reminded that there was something in orbit not very compatible with life on the planet. If the beams continued, sooner or later one would catch a person directly in its field and the results would certainly be disastrous.

Jaresh offered to go with them. Scotty sputtered initially, but conceded his engineering expertise, though of the highest caliber, would be of little help to the crushed ship. Spock assured him that Chekov would render him all the assistance he would need.

"The captain is notorious for his recuperative powers, Mr. Scott," he reminded him. "He is also notorious for being a very bad patient. I am confident you are the one who can handle him."

Jaresh lay a hand on Scotty's shoulder. "I believe you would do more good here, tending your friend." He winked conspiringly, lowering his voice so only Scotty could hear. "I wager you Serin will need you to hold him down when he begins to feel better. She is feisty but he outweighs her."

Scotty grinned at Jaresh, gripping his shoulder in return. "I believe you're right."

Gerain quickly set up travel arrangements, a change of clothing and provisions for several days, and communication line of willing children who could cover the distance easily on foot twice a day, taking messages to and from the crash site. By noon everything was ready and, after they all shared a hasty meal, Scotty watched them disappear over one of the many hills of the area, the messenger-boy of the day enjoying his free ride one way, dangling his legs over the back of

the cart.

Scotty re-entered the house, chilled in the sudden comparative gloom after basking in the full sun of mid-day. Serin, busy at some task, asked him to look in on friend James.

"Friend!" he muttered, moving with slow steps to the door of the sickroom.

Friend to Spock, to Dr. McCoy, maybe, but not to him. He rubbed his tired eyes, leaning tiredly against the jam, before crossing the room to the still-sleeping Kirk. He had to get hold of himself; his thoughts were maudlin, unprofessional. It was his Celtic blood - too much passion, too much fire about anything and everything. Scott had never done anything halfway in his life, and that included friendships. But his friends had all been engineers and the like, never C.O.'s. Command had its price, and he had sat in that chair on the bridge often enough to know that things like personal feelings - and friendships - had to be set aside, things that hindered command decisions. Often life and death decisions.

So Scott did not harbor resentment against the captain for his limited circle of friends. But his experiences here on Gerain's planet made him realize that he did harbor a good bit of envy. He wondered about the circumstances that had brought him to the Enterprise and ultimately in contact with Kirk.

Scotty grunted with disgust for himself. His emotions had played the upper hand since they'd landed on this planet. The best thing for him to do was go upstairs and get a bit of rest. If Jaresh was right - and he had no doubt he wasn't - Kirk would be awake soon and his 'dynamic' personality would no doubt reveal itself with a vengeance. Serin was going to need his help, no question about that.


	6. Chapter 6

"There!"

Chekov scrambled from the cart, free of the garish costume and clad in the simple garb of the planet. He limped to the shuttlecraft, the crutch forgotten. Spock, also similarly attired, still wore the hat, more for the sake of the boy than anything else. He followed the Russian into the vehicle while Jaresh took a look around outside, the young messenger in tow. Jaresh longed to see inside,

but felt it best to wait for an invitation. It was not long in coming.

"Jaresh," Spock motioned to him, "please look at these charts and see if any of the celestial bodies correspond with the studies you have made."

The man climbed into the shuttle and was soon poring over the charts, his and Spock's heads almost touching in their mutual study. If Chekov thought Spock a bit lax in his enforcing the Prime Directive, he kept it to himself. Even as he watched, his opinion wavered. Jaresh reminded him of the ancient star-gazers he had learned of as a child: Copernicus, Galileo, Kepler, Newton.

Though by current standards their methods were crude, those stargazers still had the vision, the ability to see beyond what was accepted, even approved. Some risked alienation from their society - even the Church - by their willingness to seek out what was beyond the accepted realm. Scientific or not, they had to have experienced an almost mystical sense of awe at what they found. Jaresh was like that. Uncomplicated, yes, perhaps naive, but a scientist, nonetheless. No wonder he and Spock related.

"I recognize some of these orbits here," commented Jaresh, tracing them with a finger. "They are two of what I have determined may be five or more orbits around our sun. My instruments are handcrafted and the magnification can only show me so much. I have seen shadows which may indicate one or two more of these bodies in our system."

"You've observed the planets and stars for a long time, then?" asked Chekov, his curiosity bringing him closer to look at the charts himself.

"Since I was old enough to know what they were called. The constellations were named in song and verse to us while still in our mothers' arms. Everyone knows the names of the planets and star-pictures above us. But I wanted to know more. And more." He grinned. "Yes, Chekov, a long time."

"Have you observed any changes in the normal sightings and course plottings over the past few months, Jaresh?" asked Spock, moving to the front of the shuttle and opening a panel under the console.

Jaresh seemed to hesitate before replying. "I have. You, no doubt, would call them pure extra-world sightings, unexplained phenomena which probably have a logical cause, such as meteor showers and the like. But they were more than that." He glanced at Chekov, whose forehead had creased with a frown. "You disapprove."

Chekov glanced at Spock, whose neutral features denoted pure Vulcan chagrin. "On the contrary, sir. It isn't my place to approve or disapprove."

"Nevertheless. . . " Jaresh shrugged. "The sightings denoted an event to come. I sensed it, more strongly each time I saw one, until I was overwhelmed." He locked gazes with Spock. "That was the night you came."

"I see." Spock stood with the panel in one hand, a small tool in the other. He cleared his throat. "Can you describe the sightings specifically, Jaresh, while Mr. Chekov assists me?"

Chekov, taking his cue, moved to help Spock examine the sensor array. He met Jaresh's smile with a small one of his own, very much aware that Jaresh had ceased to call him 'friend Chekov.'

ooOOoo

Scotty woke to the sound of two voices: Kirk's announcing that he wanted to know what was going on right now, and Serin's quiet bur firm insistence that he stay put or suffer the consequences.

As he struggled into some clothes, he noted that Kirk's voice had subsided somewhat, bringing a smile to the Scotsman's face. Ah, the voice of authority, how it worked wonders!

He clumped down the stairs, yawning and stretching, and crossed the empty kitchen. His face lit up at the smell of breakfast and he winked at Serin as she entered the room. For the first time since he'd known her, she was frowning.

"Why, Serin you're upset, lass!"

"Not upset, friend Montgomery," she sputtered, "just - mad!" She practically stomped over to the stove and stirred the porridge with a great deal of enthusiasm. Scotty stifled a grin and padded to the sickroom door, hoping to catch a glimpse of his captain before being seen himself.

Kirk lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, his fingers drumming on the coverlet. His lower lip stood in danger of total consumption and his eyebrows were pulled down in a ferocious scowl.

Scotty pulled himself around the door frame and crossed his arms. "Good morning, Captain. I see she wouldn't let you up."

"Scotty!" The eyebrows went up, the abused lip curved in a smile. "You're all right! I couldn't get that woman to tell me anything; I tell you, Scotty, she's worse than Bones. She's giving me broth that's mostly water, she won't let me sit up. . . "

Scott moved over to the bed and pulled up a chair. Kirk's head had fallen back upon the pillow, his brief tirade leaving him spent. "Now, now, Captain, you're gettin' into a snit for nothing. You just rest there and ask me anything you want."

"I don't want to rest; I want to get up."

Scott pulled a frown of his own. "I can see where Dr. McCoy gets his grey hairs. You've been very sick, man, with a fever just broke. Use some common sense. Serin says you have some broken ribs; they're not bound yet and if you go movin' about you're liable to do some more damage." At the mention of her name, 'that woman' came into the room with another pillow and carefully began to prop up friend James, a procedure which drained his face white until its completion. Kirk looked startled at the name she gave him but said nothing, only thanking her for her efforts with a nod and a rueful smile.

Without further ado, Scott told him everything he knew.

ooOOoo

"Here he comes!" Gerain shouted from the yard, hailing the arrival of the young messenger from the shuttle. A full day and night had passed since Spock and Chekov had left with Jaresh to try to find some answers about the strange beam, and Scotty had grown restless with waiting. He could only imagine what Kirk was thinking, but the captain had kept his thoughts to himself. To Scott's chagrin, Kirk had retreated into a shell of melancholy, with bursts of anger - an emotional side the captain rarely showed unless something was really wrong. Well, they had all had a bit of trouble with their emotions since that first energy beam had hit them. Even their rational thought seemed to have been affected.

Chekov had filled him in on Spock's somewhat uncharacteristic decisions after the crash. . .

The youngster, now hoisted to Gerain's shoulders, triumphantly handed the message to Scotty before being borne off giggling to places afar.

Scotty took the message to Kirk who, after looking at the scrawled inscription on the outside, handed it back to him. "It has your name on it."

Shrugging, Scott took a seat and read aloud the note from Spock:

_Debriefing Jaresh has revealed his discovery of unusual orbital and supra-orbital movement around the planet, accompanied by lights, corresponding to an as yet unexplained physiological reaction in himself. His knowledge of this planet's solar system and possession of a keen, scientific mind has been quite helpful in our search for whatever this thing is._

_Sensor array partially repaired, short-range scanning only. Nothing detected as of yet; however, based upon our own observations and those made by Jaresh, I believe there is a ship or probe of some kind either orbiting this planet or surveying this system. The beam which we have experienced may be attributed to some kind of geological survey conducted by this probe. Further study is necessary. Will continue to relay messages. _

_Spock_

_- How is the captain? I have enclosed a full report for him if he is ready to see it._

_- The homing beacon is working. No one seems to hear it at present._

_-S-_

Scott sighed, letting the paper drop into Kirk's lap. Jim lay still, watching the breeze play with a branch outside his window. When he finally spoke his quiet voice cut the stillness like a knife. "Scotty, what hit us before we crashed?"

"I don't know. At first I thought we'd been struck by a phaser. Then it felt more like a tractor beam gone sour. After that all hell broke loose; it's hard to tell what I felt then."

"There's not much I remember past that first jolt, either," said Kirk. "But I do remember feeling disoriented for a minute, dizzy."

"You were hit on the head. . . "

"No, before that," continued the captain, waving a hand at the engineer. "I felt - funny, like. . . " His eyes widened in recognition. "Like I did when that beam hit us on the ridge after you found me."

"Well, I dunno. . . "

"What else could it be? Think about it;" he began, tapping Spock's report, "according to this, Jaresh starts seeing lights across the sky that don't move like meteors, we get knocked off course as we come close to his planet by a mysterious energy force, you and I see this beam of light that makes us dizzy and weak - Spock and Chekov have the same type of experience. Even this Jaresh says things are very different around here."

"He thinks we were brought here, Captain, to prevent something bad from happening, or to do something good. Don't get me wrong, he seems a good man enough, but he's a product of his civilization, and it's not exactly in the twenty-third century yet!"

Kirk grinned. "Think I'm getting a little daffy, Scott?" The grin faded. "Maybe I am. I should be at the shuttle with Spock, should talk with Jaresh. If we could only get a reading on the beam itself. . ." He shifted position and grimaced with sudden pain.

Scott watched his C.O. compose himself, empathizing with Kirk's wish to be up and about. Any words of comfort he may have said were aborted by Serin's entry into the room.

"That is enough for now, friend Montgomery." Friend James is tired and needs to sleep for awhile." When Kirk opened his mouth to protest she raised a finger to cut him off. "But his wound is healed enough now so that his ribs may be bound. If he sleeps and eats his broth when he wakes I will bind him and you may help him sit in this chair for a little while."

Scotty raised his hands in mute defeat and left the room. Kirk merely muttered a quiet expletive and turned his face to the wall.

ooOOoo

"Now, Jaresh."

The words came from beneath the panel which concealed the upper halves of Chekov and Spock. Jaresh, duly instructed in the general purpose of the switches to which he was consigned, pressed a button. A faint humming ensued and several lights began blinking on the console. A screen in the center of the console shone a faint blue, with strange patterns playing across its field. Jaresh sat fascinated while Spock and Chekov struggled out of the bowels of the console. He looked at Spock, grinning like a schoolboy. "You have fixed it?"

Spock nodded as his hands played over the various substations in the console, the blinking lights changing configuration as the sensor adjustments were made. "In the sense that our Mr. Scott fixes the ship's engines while our captain continues to bludgeon them during a crisis, yes, it is fixed. However, as the captain well knows, Mr. Scott would remind him without reservation of inevitable failure without proper parts. Usually we are able to pull through the crisis before this disintegration takes place."

"And the times you are not?"

"We improvise," answered Chekov, a smile breaking through, prompting an answering smile from Jaresh. "Like now, for instance. We have to set our sensors for an unfamiliar energy field. Our range is limited, the sensor array shortened due to damage. What would you do?"

Jaresh glanced at Spock, who folded his arms and remained silent. The oracle realized, a little late, that Chekov really wanted his input. "I, uh. . . " He cleared his throat, then looked at the array on the little screen in front of him. "You speak of limitations in the sensor array. I would search to the broadest scope it is capable of and hope to find something that did not match anything I had seen before." A raised Vulcan eyebrow and broad Human grin were his confirmation.

"Allow me to instruct you in the art of maintaining a sensor array, friend Jaresh." Once again, Spock and Jaresh bent over the controls.

ooOOoo

"I heard two more reports today," began Gerain, speaking softly so as not to disturb Kirk, who lay sleeping soundly in the next room.

"Not again!" began Serin, who lowered her voice at Gerain's warning look. "Was anyone hurt this time?" She handed a bowl of fruit to Scott, who absently helped himself before passing the bowl to Gerain.

"No, fortunately, But both Meril's milk animals were caught in the beam. They did not survive."

Serin shook her head in sympathy for the family, resolving to talk to Gerain later about giving them the use of one of their animals until Meril could raise one of the young to produce. He had two small children in his household and the milk was essential to their diet.

"Were there any - strange things, Gerain?" piped the voice of one of the foot messengers, whose turn it was to stay the night before making a morning run to the shuttle the next day.

"Like the metal that disintegrates, or the rockslides?" The boy nodded. "No." Gerain finished chewing and swallowed, lifting his cup. "Not this time. But I am hearing more of such happenings all the time." He looked at Scott, who had not spoken. "Since we began the runners, all sorts of strange reports are coming in - people complaining of headaches, dizziness - in fact the archivist in town has reported whole metal artifacts disappearing from the museum."

Scotty thought of asking if anyone could have stolen the artifacts, looked at the people around him who reminded him of the social structure of the planet, and immediately scrapped the idea. The sense of possessions was different in this culture. Although individuals possessed things, they freely shared them, even giving them away as they felt the need. No one here would conceive of the idea of having to take something. He smiled to himself. No doubt he could have walked up to the front door of the museum and simply asked for an artifact and the archivist would have given it to him! The voice of the youngster brought him back to the present conversation.

"Is friend Creborn feeling better, Serin?"

Serin motioned to the corner of her mouth, indicting to the boy to wipe the milk from the corresponding corner of his own. The tip of his tongue did the trick, though she had meant for him to use the napkin hanging around his neck. "I visited him today. He is gaining strength quickly and should be back on his feet in a day or two. He was fortunate," she commented, resting her elbows on the table and glancing at friend Montgomery, who seemed very far away. "When the barn wall collapsed the machinery he was working on shielded him from the worst of it. It only knocked him unconscious." Scotty finally turned and looked at her, drawn by her stare. "He has a hard head," she continued, then stopped.

"Friend Montgomery, what is wrong?"

"I'm just thinking about mine and the captain's encounter with that thing, how it made us feel when it came so close. I'm also sure now that the embankment that caved in on us had been depleted of some of the minerals in the underlying rock, weakening it. This energy field, whatever it is, draws the very substance out of what it touches. It's killed animals now." He turned from Serin, his eyes

lingering on the boy momentarily, then looked at Gerain. "It's only a matter of time before it catches someone directly in its field."

Gerain studied his hands, not looking up. "Death by choice has always been our way, since the beginning of time. Accidental death is rare and unlooked for." He sighed in exasperation. "How do we protect the people from something that comes without warning?"

"You don't," came a voice from the bedroom door. The people at the table looked up in surprise at Kirk, who stood propped against the jam, one arm wrapped protectively around his rib cage.

"Captain!" exclaimed Scotty, jumping up and crossing to support his commanding officer. "You should be in bed, man! You're not ready. . . "

"Oh no? Watch me," growled Kirk. He looked at Serin. "I'm hungry. The food smells delicious. Will you let me eat something?"

Serin cut her eyes to her husband, who nodded. She rose slowly, motioning to her chair. "Against my better judgement, friend James, but it seems I am outnumbered." Scotty took her cue and assisted Jim to the chair and eased him carefully down. Hindered by a racking but productive cough, Kirk had only been up twice since his ribs had been bound, having graduated from broth to thick soups. But until now Serin had denied him more solid fare, especially the homemade brew served at the supper meals. The smells and sounds of eating coming from the kitchen for the last two days had nearly driven the man to distraction. The conversation accompanying the meal tonight finally drove him from his bed. He'd have to pay the piper tomorrow, he well knew, but tonight he was going to eat real food and have some company or he'd die in the attempt.

Once seated, Kirk found he had little strength to carry on any conversation, but was content to pick at the food Serin set before him, assimilate the information offered by Gerain and Scott, and occasionally wink at the boy who sat across from him, wide-eyed and sporting a milk-mustache despite Serin's attempts to teach him some table manners.

ooOOoo

"Hoi! I have something here!" yelled Jaresh, pointing at the screen and adjusting the field to get a tighter reading.

Spock materialized from outdoors, where he had been taking readings with his tricorder for comparison studies, and in two long strides was standing alongside Jaresh, studying the screen and accompanying sensor instrumentation. "Bearing three-eight mark seven-four, approximately," he murmured, adjusting his tricorder and aiming it in the direction he had indicated. "Distance of roughly seven point six three kilometers, close enough for my tricorder to pick up."

"Not far form the town," Jaresh remarked, staring tat the shuttle bulkhead as if could see through it and beyond. "It will no doubt be included in the reports we are receiving from Gerain."

Spock nodded in reply, still studying the sensor array and his additional tricorder readings, storing the information away for inclusion in his comparison studies. He finished momentarily as the readings faded. "It has dissipated." He held up the tricorder. "But now I have something to work with. We shall put that in our own report to the captain." Jaresh smiled in agreement and resumed his post as sensor monitor.

Spock went back outside, relishing the fresh air and gentle breeze which never failed to revive him somewhat. He sat on the fallen trunk of a tree and went over his tricorder readings, correlating them with the sensor readout, working on a method to break down the components of the energy field. He still tired easily and often found himself under the scrutiny of Jaresh which, though well-intended, made him uneasy, much as did Dr. McCoy in his habitual mother-henning. At any rate, Jaresh made a good helper and pupil, and the work kept his mind on other things besides Spock's health.

The field, though now preliminarily identified, did present problems. How to mirror it, to literally capture it and turn it back upon itself in hopes of crippling the mechanism? The answer lay in the sensor array, providing they could muster enough power from the weakened batteries of the shuttle, but even if the system could be reconfigured, how would they "capture" a beam? They could not move the shuttle to the energy field; the energy field literally had to come to them. If Spock remembered Human history, Mohammed never expected that from the mountain. He sighed, taking off his hat and letting the breeze ruffle his hair and cool the tips of his ears. If he could admit it, he was growing increasingly tired of the hat which he wore unless strictly in the presence of Chekov or Jaresh, who had never seemed to take notice anyway.

A noise to his right, just out of sight, effected the swift replacement of the hat. Just in time, for Chekov appeared with a runner in tow, packet in hand. The boy ran ahead of the slower ensign and deposited the packet in Spock's hands with a grin. Spock greeted the boy in turn, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder briefly before motioning to the shuttle. "You will find him in there," he

offered, knowing the messengers relished the treats Jaresh always managed to find for them in his pockets. Stories around a campfire before the run back to Gerain's farm were another treat they could look forward to, as well.

His illogical show of regard for the boy, one of several who made the trips, not only to and from Gerain's farm to the shuttle, but to other farms and the nearby town as well, might have born scrutiny if he had the energy to waste on such considerations; however, it took some doing to manage to keep his mind on the task at hand. There was no doubt that the copper depletion in his blood was affecting his metabolism, hence his thinking processes. Not for the first time, he wished for the benefits of a copper-rich hypo. His eyes narrowed; if McCoy knew his thoughts right now he would never hear the end of it. He replayed the tricorder readings, concentrating. Even Mohammed had to find the mountain before he could cross it.

ooOOoo

"I can manage by myself, if you don't mind." Kirk pulled against Serin's firm hold under his elbow, chagrined that he hadn't yet the strength to pull free.

"Not this far, friend James. You tire easily," was Serin's reply as she continued to walk with Kirk toward the tree where Scotty was to meet them. She noted with concern James' tight, controlled breathing which grew more difficult as they proceeded up the slight incline. "You should give yourself more time. . ."

"I don't have more time, Serin! You don't understand."

Serin stopped, dragging Kirk to a halt beside her. "I understand more than you think, James. You take me for a fool, a simple, uneducated woman who should keep her thoughts to herself."

"I didn't say that," he began, turning away to proceed up the hill. Serin moved in his way, once again stopping him.

"Perhaps you have not said it, but you have treated me as such over and over again. Are the women subservient in your culture? Do you keep them to serve when convenient and ignore them otherwise?"

Kirk's brow drew down in a frown, the hazel eyes darkening. "No. And no. We'll discuss this later, Serin." He stepped around her, glancing up the hill. "There's Scotty now. I'll make it the rest of the way on my own."

"You need help; the trail is steep, and littered with rocks. . ."

Frustrated with his weakness and own lack of control, Kirk's voice rose. "I told you I don't need your help!" With all his strength he pried her hand from his arm and turned back to the path. He didn't see Serin's eyes fill with tears before transforming into fire. Neither did he see her stick out her tongue as far as possible without damaging the roots, and hike up her skirts to flee down

the hill.

Scott stood under the tree, having seen and heard the confrontation between Kirk and Serin.

It was too bad she and the captain had started off on the wrong foot. It was obvious to him that she offered Jim the same care and concern that she did anyone she met, including one moody Scotsman, but Kirk, for whatever reason, couldn't see it. Or wouldn't. Somehow, it angered him, enough so to counteract his first impulse to meet the captain on the trail and help him up the last few meters; obviously Kirk was having trouble maneuvering the path, but it was he who had insisted he didn't need the help. All right then, let him suffer from his own stubbornness.

Kirk puffed the last few wobbly steps to the tree, eyeing the seated Scot. "Been waiting long?" he wheezed, sliding down the trunk to rest beside the engineer. He reached up to wipe the sweat from his face; his hand was trembling.

Scotty merely replied, "Just got here, sir." He was not about to be drawn into the still palpable aftermath of Serin's and Kirk's argument. He knew Jim would be anxious to hear a first-hand report for a change, rather than the hand-written notes from Spock or Chekov. But the anger kindled in him by Jim's apparent disregard for Serin still smoldered and he was determined to make Kirk have to ask for everything he wanted to know.

He might be in for a bit of a wait. Kirk stilled breathed heavily, coughing occasionally and grimacing with the accompanying pain it brought him. He had paled with the effort of the climb and probably would feel better if he lay down for awhile. Scotty knew Jim Kirk would never indulge in that, however. Damn stubborn. . .

"Infuriating. . ." he mumbled, aware too late that he had verbalized his thoughts.

"What?" Kirk opened his eyes, looking at Scotty, but not quite focusing. When the Scotsman remained silent Kirk pulled himself out his haze, locking eyes with the engineer. "You said something, Mr. Scott?"

Scotty returned the gaze, reminding himself all the while: regulations, protocol, commanding officer. . .

Understanding dawned on Kirk's face. "Okay, Scotty. What's going on? Off the record if you prefer."

Scotty crossed his arms and stared past Kirk's shoulder. "Nothing, sir."

"Don't nothing me, Mr. Scott! I know something's going on in that head of yours. Am I imagining it, or are you upset with me?" He saw the Scotsman's own features darken, the hands clench into fists beneath the folded arms, but he still did not reply. "Dammit, Scotty, what is bothering you?"

"Don't yell at me, ye great. . . " Scotty checked himself, rose from his spot next to the tree and stalked away a few feet. He turned, face red. "Off the record?"

The muscle in Kirk's jaw twitched. "I said it."

"I dinna understand the way you've been actin' toward the people who've done so much to help you," he began, his brogue thick with emotion. "You almost died - ye _were _dead, for all intents and purposes, but you came through - these people saved your life. Opened their home to you, stayed up nights, cleaned up after you. . . " He paused to gain better control. "I've seen you be arrogant before, even approved it when I thought it was merited. But I've never seen you treat kind, decent people like this, like they were in the way, like they didn't matter. . . "

Kirk drew breath tentatively, willing his racing heart to slow down, his muddled thoughts to clear. What was Scotty saying? He had been preoccupied with wanting to get well, needing to get back to the shuttle, to find out what this energy field was. That was where his first duty lay, surely - to destroy or cripple the energy field-generating device. God only knew the flack he was going to have to take for missing the Galesian prince's wedding - Starfleet's questions and paperwork, the Federation's posturing. . .

"Damn... " he muttered, propping his elbows on his drawn up knees and grabbing fistfuls of his own hair.

Scotty, already in the heat of it, misunderstood the reason for the expletive. He marched over to stand directly in front of the captain, hands on hips. "I'll tell you, Captain, I've always respected you, served you without question, even when you were as green as the grass you're sittin' on, whether I agreed with you or not. I respected your methods although I didn't always understand them; I obeyed you when I thought you were daft, supported you even when I thought you'd get us killed - all because I thought I knew what you were made of. . . "

"Mr. Scott. . ." began Kirk.

"Wait, I'm not near finished. You might as well hear it all, anyway. I watched you while you were in the fever, fighting what looked like a losing battle. I thought of all the times you came back from a mission with Spock and McCoy. Sometimes one of you didn't come back in one piece, and the other two would hover around sickbay until the staff grew sick of you. I watched your friendship

grow; I saw something you rarely see on a starship - who could figure a doctor, a science officer and a captain? Why, it's so unlikely as to be laughable. I watched you. . . " Scotty's ferocious gaze faltered; he looked away. "I envied you."

"Scotty. . . I didn't know."

The engineer turned to face Kirk; on impulse he crouched down to be eye-to-eye with his commanding officer. "Does it make any difference?"

Kirk was taken aback, the open, honest question slapping him in the face with its frankness. He didn't know how to answer the man. Scotty had always been there for him, ever since he had assumed command of the Enterprise. Despite the adjustments that had to be made over the first few weeks and months, he had always been confident of the man's loyalty, expertise, dedication. Had he accepted these things as Scott's sense of duty, oblivious to something else which might have fueled the Scotsman's fealty? If someone had asked him if Scotty were his friend he would have answered yes. Had he taken that word too lightly? Had he indeed taken Scotty for granted?

His face hardened. But that was part of what being captain was. Taking things for granted. He couldn't second-guess his officers or their expertise, or he'd second-guess them into a black hole or a Klingon raiding party. He had to expect only the best from them, and only as a matter of course. How could he know that loyalty and admiration could transform duty into feelings of attachment in some of his crew?

Scotty saw the look in his captain's eyes. He sighed, pushing himself upright, and looked at the lowering sun. "It's getting late, sir. I'd better get you back."

Kirk ignored the Scotsman's outstretched hand. "Scotty. . . Wait." He motioned for him to sit down next to him. Scotty hesitated, then obeyed. "I don't quite know where to begin, so I'll just bungle my way through this." At the engineer's nod of affirmation, he began: "I don't know why the friendships McCoy, Spock and I have happened. I don't think we choose our friendships as much as we fall into them. For me, I just realized one day that I cared about them. What's left of my own family is scattered across half the galaxy; family for me is on the ship. It's like when you're born - you don't choose the family who bears you, you're just there. But you love them - you fight with them, disagree with them, get angry with them - but you love them. Because they're family."

He shifted position, turning toward Scott to emphasize his next point. "You sometimes take them for granted, too, losing sight of their love for you, their ability to overlook your deficiencies and character flaws - because they're family."

He turned a palm up in a mute appeal to the Scotsman. "It doesn't make it right, but it's easier to understand." He looked past Scotty to the setting sun. "As for my behavior here, however. . ." He struggled to stand, feeling weak and even groggy. "I need to talk to Serin and Gerain."

"My report. . . " began Scott, just remembering why they had agreed to meet at the tree in the first place, why he had hurried back from the shuttle bearing direct news for the impatient captain.

Kirk smiled wearily. "Nothing we can do until tomorrow, Scotty. I think it can wait until later, don't you?"

Scott nodded. Kirk took a step forward and stumbled, only spared a fall by Scott's quick intervention. He was very much aware of Scotty's gentleness as he guided him back toward the farm, a few lights kindling in the house waiting below.


	7. Chapter 7

Chekov paused in his writing and yawned, stretching stiffened muscles in his back and arms. He felt as if he'd been writing for days; there was so much to include this time! He and Spock, with Jaresh's help, had reconfigured the sensor array, using tricorder and sensor readings, to mirror the energy field back along its own trajectory. At least they thought they had. The only way they

would know whether it worked would be to try it; to do that, the beam would have to come within a hundred meters of the sensor array, and they'd have to generate enough power to turn it back upon its path to hopefully feed upon itself. Based upon Spock's theory, the unit generating this beam was more than likely a wayward probe of some kind, no doubt of mining origin, designed initially to scan planets for minerals. Over the years, untended and likely even out of its own star system, the settings were out of adjustment and the sampling effect was indiscriminate - and potentially deadly. The remaining problem was finding a way to make the device return to their location, a definite dilemma since there had been no report of the beam showing up anywhere it had been sighted before. Time was growing short, he knew, before someone would be killed by that thing. . . What had Jaresh said when they first met him? That he felt they were there to help his people in some way? He shook his head and resumed writing, knowing the captain was anxiously waiting for their next report. So far, he thought, they had been of very little help to Jaresh's people.

Very little help at all.

ooOOoo

Jim Kirk wasn't getting very much sleep this night. He lay staring out the window at the strange constellations moving across the sky, wondering at the circumstances that had brought him here. A man could spend his entire life in space, yet never appreciate the beauty of the patterns of the stars intrinsic to the earthbound gazer. Civilizations rose and fell to the rotation of the fiery

travelers; history was marked by the location of their patterns. Their call, however, was the strongest of their properties. The call to come away from the familiar homeworld, to explore, to find what mysteries they held. This was the call that lay hold of him years ago as he looked out another window at another view of stars.

It was the same with people. Too often one lost sight of the individuality of one person in the larger scope of those hundreds under his command. The pattern of that individual's life became just another blur in the warp speed of responsibility. Kirk's confrontation with Scotty that afternoon shook him. Shook him so that he felt like the 'greeny' he was when he assumed command of the

Enterprise and faced the indomitable spirit of the Chief Engineer for the first time. Citations and medals meant nothing in the light of finding oneself placed on a peer level with the experience and know-how of Montgomery Scott. But that was three years ago. With the captain's chair had come the experience (no doubt some of it seat-of-the-pants) and familiarity with the ship and crew which

matured the raw confidence with which he was equipped. The words were true in more ways than one that he was indeed the youngest man to ever command a starship. Now, he felt that way again.

This wasn't the first time he had questioned himself. Not in crisis, no - he had never allowed himself to do that. It was after the crisis he often 'beat himself up,' as McCoy put it, questioning his motives, his actions. He was, after all, saddled with these human emotions that Spock was so apt to berate (and just as apt to show upon occasion), and could not help but ask these questions. McCoy often helped him put things into perspective. Once adrenalin levels had returned to normal and he had gotten some sleep, Kirk had always been able to become oriented again, focused. Only illness, severe injury or mental tampering had altered that ability to bounce back.

Kirk frowned, pulling his pillows under him so he could sit up. _That_ was what was different! Things weren't right, somehow. Yes, he had been ill, desperately so, and was still not physically whole. Yes, he knew the dangers of the rogue probe and the difficulty Spock and Chekov were having trying to 'capture' it, and his own frustration at not being able to help. But there was more.

Everyone had, in some way, been affected by this probe. Some effects were more obvious, such as Chekov's ankle and the rock slide that had caught him and Scotty. But there were other, more subtle effects in play here. Spock suffered from a copper deficiency. Kirk knew from experience that anemia could easily affect the delicate chemical balance of the brain and other metabolic processes - in extreme cases altering personality - more often loosing normally more guarded

emotions. And Kirk sensed that Spock was using the physical distance between them to keep them apart emotionally, as well - a sure sign that all was not right.

He had noticed Scott's increased brogue during their stay at Gerain's, the carefree way he treated the messengers and children living on the farm. Scotty had never been one to hide his feelings, but they seemed more on his sleeve here. He certainly showed it today, obviously. Kirk grinned. Well, he deserved it. An officer who couldn't take the well-intended criticism of someone under his

command didn't deserve the command in the first place. It was just such criticism and advice that kept him balanced, alert, and less self-centered. It was Scott's criticism today that made him realize that he wasn't himself. In retrospect, Gerain and Serin had been more than diplomatic and correct, a treatment he would almost expect to receive in most peacetime situations; they had been kind and considerate, tending to him, bathing him, ministering to him in humble - and humbling - ways. Somehow, in a medical ward it was less personal. Medical personnel were trained to keep it light, talk to you about last week's game scores while probing into painful - and private - areas of your anatomy. But in this setting, in someone's home, you knew the people who tended you had gone out of their way to help. They set aside other responsibilities (or stayed up long hours to accomplish them later) to serve you.

Kirk had known all this, yet he had not made a special effort to thank Gerain, and had almost gone out of his way to be surly to Serin. Granted, this was no place to turn on the charm, but where was his common decency, the innate desire to treat the husband and wife with the same kindness they had treated him? That was the disparity.

The only explanation he could come up with was the bump on the head (which hadn't been that severe - he had suffered much worse before) or - and he nodded unconsciously to himself as he considered this option - it was the probe. It was documented that it tapped into minerals and metals. It was a well-known fact that if you sucked out all the water from a human body all you had left were minerals and metals (and a few chemicals). For that matter, how was he to know it didn't seek out chemicals, as well? He and Scotty had been exposed to it twice, once in the shuttle and again on the ridge. How many times had Spock been exposed to it? Three times at least, and at much closer proximity. Was he experiencing problems with his own emotions? No doubt all of them were, to some extent or other. Though not debilitating, they would be a nuisance, especially to a Vulcan.

Kirk sighed, laying back down and rubbing his burning eyes. Another reason why he shouldn't be here, but at the shuttle helping Spock. But what could he do? Like Scott, he was secondary for

the moment, and would only hinder operations by blundering around in his half-sick condition. But unlike Scott, who had helped Serin minister to Kirk when he couldn't get up or turn himself, worked with Gerain in the fields and coordinated the messengers with Spock, Kirk had been unable to do anything physical. And that, perhaps, had played upon his growing irritation most of all.

However, that did not excuse his behavior toward his hosts. After Scott had brought him back to the farmhouse, Kirk had quietly apologized to the couple at the supper table, in front of all the people who sat there. He made no excuses for himself and half-expected to hear a few other complaints about his behavior now that he had opened the door.

But Gerain had simply grinned and said, "You are always welcome here, friend James." Serin had flushed and quickly passed a dish to Scotty, knocking over his cup in the process. Dinner went on normally after that, though he felt the Scotsman's eyes on him more than once, and when he knew he couldn't sit up another minute the engineer was at his elbow to see him to his room. No words

were said as Scott left, but Kirk was rewarded with the sunshine of his smile.

And with the memory of that last encounter, Kirk sighed and closed his eyes. The stars soon watched him sleep.

ooOOoo

Jaresh's windblown head appeared above the crest of the hill near sundown, Spock's tricorder clutched carefully in both hands. He watched with interest as Spock downloaded the readings he had taken of the artifacts in the town museum into the sensor array computer. The console beeped completion of the download; Spock responded by re-attuning the sensor array into a data beam, linking it into the distress beacon system. It was not an easy process. With Chekov assisting, Jaresh had little to do but watch and wait - and reflect. He had enjoyed scanning the artifacts, having to learn the basics of the tricorder to do so, understanding that Spock hoped to use a strong signal to project signatures of the same metals the probe had previously intercepted, in order to bring it close to the shuttle. Obviously, the probe did not recognize the duranium components of the shuttle's hull, or it would have dissembled it when it touched upon Chekov's ankle. So using the shuttle as a decoy would evidently prove useless. All had agreed that both the common and more rare metals found in the artifacts would prove a better lure. As Chekov had said, it was a shot in the dark, but they had no other options. For obvious reasons, they did not

include readings of parnum. They had no intention of subjecting Spock to another debilitating, and possibly deadly, experience.

"What are you doing now, friend Spock?" he asked, when Spock removed his hands from the console.

"Mr. Chekov and I have essentially 'turned on' a homing beacon which projects strong signatures of the metals found in the artifacts. The sensor array was not designed for such a purpose. It will be difficult to keep on line; we'll have to take turns monitoring it."

"If this does work, and the probe comes to us, how do we disable it?" asked Jaresh, who could not keep his eyes off the fluctuating readouts of the modified sensor array.

"I've re-programmed the homing beacon," explained Chekov. "When the probe comes within scanning range, the beacon will pick up the signal from the probe and send it back along the same signal as our homing beacon signal. The probe seems to be self-adjusting, first sensing, then attuning itself to the metal or minerals it senses. We hope that the probe will therefore translate that signal into its program and focus on its own components, destroying itself." Chekov smiled at Jaresh's raised eyebrows. "We've seen probes go out of commission before, Jaresh. They do crazy things sometimes."

Jaresh's reply was sober. "Like focus on a planet unable to defend itself against its destructive beam."

"Exactly," said Spock. "It seems that too often it is the innocent who are caught up n the maelstrom of chaotic events."

"Well, if anyone can pull sanity out of chaos, I believe it is you, friend Spock," said Jaresh, smiling now. His eyes moved to the Russian. "And you, Chekov."

Chekov sat with his good leg curled under him, resting the other leg. Having to keep the boot on all the time was as bad as wearing a cast, which he had to do once for two weeks on a mission gone bad. Everything itched! He had tried to alleviate the discomfort by pushing a stick down to the itch, with only partial success. Best to try to think of something else.

He raised his eyes to watch Jaresh and Spock fix the evening meal, using an open fire as had become the custom over the last few nights. Daytime meals were comprised of shuttle stores; Jaresh's evening meals, with the first officer's help, were far better. Chekov had offered to do his share but Spock made some obscure mention of the ensign's unfortunate knack of burning food over open fires, so it was agreed that he would watch.

Spock still showed signs of depleted energy. As long as he didn't encounter the beam again his body would eventually make up the depleted copper; however, Chekov was sure Spock had considered the danger of enticing the beam to come to them again. It could concentrate on the artifact metals, but again, it could conceivably read the copper in Spock's body and concentrate on that, especially since it had already probed and sampled the metal of Jaresh's travel cup and Spock's own blood. But it was a risk they would all have to take, since they knew if any one of them were caught directly in the probe's beam, they would die. Dead farm animals were blatant testimony of that fact. He sighed. It seemed all the facts more or less pointed to disaster.

"Deep thoughts, Chekov?" smiled Jaresh, handing the navigator a plate, curiously carved and warm with the food it contained.

"Like a chasm," Chekov smiled back, wondering why he had originally distrusted this man. Jaresh had proven himself an astute learner, an able helper, and a friend. He had no ulterior motives that Chekov could see, other than to help. True, by helping them he was helping his people, but he genuinely wanted to help Spock and Chekov, too. Chekov had experienced no little pleasure in instructing Jaresh in the intricacies of sensor array readouts, homing beacon configurations, and tricorder readings. Just having Jaresh go to the village to get a reading on the artifacts had saved him and Spock the wear and tear of the journey. Indeed, Jaresh had proved his friendship time and gain. His grin widened. "Maybe you could tell us a story like you do for the couriers, to take

my mind off things." He gestured toward an empty spot next to the fire where a young, wide-eyed messenger would usually sit, empty now because it was later than usual and the boy lay sleeping in the shuttle, already having had his dinner and story.

Jaresh settled back against a rock, finishing his meal slowly, glancing at Spock to make sure he was eating, too. Spock tended to forego eating when he was not feeling well, he had soon learned. He looked back to Chekov, who just then looked more like one of the messenger children waiting for a treat than a grown man weighed with responsibilities. "All right, Chekov. I will tell you a story

that will take your heart to the starts right above you."

Chekov finished chewing a bite, looking up at the stars as Jaresh began his story.

ooOOoo

Kirk and Scott were outside, gazing up at the same stars as Chekov. Scotty perched on a fence rail while Jim leaned against the supporting post. Their eyes unconsciously followed Serin and Gerain as they passed, arm-in-arm, into the house. Soon after, the lantern light could be seen traveling from room to room before it was lost form sight. Scott sighed.

"That sounds like it came from your toes, Scotty."

Another sigh. "Aye."

Kirk tried to see Scott's expression, but the starlight wasn't bright enough. He shifted position, resting more of his weight against the post, and looked back at the stars. "What is it?"

"Hmmm?"

"What's bothering you?"

Kirk could hear Scott chuckle in the dark, the fence rail vibrating with it.

"Nothing. Everything." Another low laugh.

"I could use a laugh right now." A sharp pain sliced through Kirk's side as he moved, and he clamped his jaw shut to squelch a yelp. He would have to ask Serin to tighten his bindings which had, too obviously, become loosened.

Scotty, unaware of Kirk, still stared at the now dark house. "I'm doin' what you should never do, Jim-lad. I'm thinkin' about the what-ifs. What if I'd chosen another line of work? What if I'd stayed on Earth, or chosen a techno-colony to settle on? What if I'd married, and. . . "

Kirk turned his body into the fence rail, resting his chest against it and breathing carefully, letting his arms dangle over the other side. He empathized with the engineer. What man had he known, including himself, had not asked those same questions? McCoy, if he were here, would remind Scott that it was normal to have these thoughts from time to time, often at crisis points in one's life. But somehow, Kirk didn't think Scott would want to hear that right now. Not like this, when they weren't captain and engineer, but two men looking up at the stars and examining their hearts. His elbow brushed up against Scott's knee, and the warmth of each other's blood could be felt through the material of their clothing.

This man, this physicist, this engineer, this miracle-worker - was a being of flesh and blood, heart and soul. He had hopes and dreams of his own, sorrows and regrets of his own, and an individual personality unlike any other. He was as brash or silly as they come when the occasion called for it (and sometimes when it didn't); was brave, forthright, and honest to a fault.

Kirk's heart warmed toward this man who sat beside him. He lifted his hand and placed it upon Scott's arm, not saying a word. He just let his hand rest there a moment, shook Scott's arm gently, and let go.

It was a long time before Scott told him it was time to get some rest.

ooOOoo

"How do you know it will work, Chekov?"

Chekov straightened from adjusting settings on the console, a frown creasing his features. "We don't." The frown turned to mischief. "But we are doing some elegant guesswork."

Spock entered the shuttle, overhearing the ensign's last words. "Based upon logical extrapolation of facts and data, of course."

Jaresh laughed at the lifted eyebrow.

"Of course," quirked Chekov.

With few words and those to the point, the three men finished the final preparations on their jury-rigged sensor array/emergency beacon. Their Frankenstein-ish creature would have made Scotty proud, thought Pavel, and cast as many doubts as to its success as any equal creation of the Chief Engineer.

The principle was simple: Using the beacon to send strong element signatures of strignate, tri-titanium, and a few other minerals and alloys known to have been sampled by the probe, they hoped to draw the probe within range, close enough for their reconfigured sensor array to double the probe's beam back upon itself. They could only hope that it would succumb to the powerful energy field of its own making and be destroyed. Of course, there were no guarantees. But they weren't looking for any.

Spock rested often, the copper deficiency in his blood robbing him of much-needed strength. Dietary supplements had helped him somewhat, but the shuttle's supply was limited and he must ration it out. Jaresh brought his various indigenous fruits and vegetables in hopes of bolstering his constitution; Spock knew he often asked the messenger boy to bring fresh edibles from the area farms while on their errands. Now, as Jaresh checked over the diagrams with the young Russian, Spock was able to watch - and contemplate - unobserved. Jaresh, in the short time he had known him, had proved to be a friend in every sense of the word. Though they lacked the intimacy a long-term relationship would have afforded them, such as the one he shared with Jim and (if he would admit it) with McCoy, Spock and Jaresh did share a commonality that, if borne much scrutiny, would baffle the logical mind. Spock shifted position, watching Chekov warming to the man he had initially mistrusted, coming to respect and like him.

Why?

Because Jaresh had not pushed. He simply remained who he was, gave Chekov some room, and was satisfied to wait. Chekov, the perceived threat gone, was then able to see the true man.

If friendship on this planet, populated with people who rarely knew death, meant the same to everyone as it did to Jaresh, then this would truly be a remarkable - and gratifying - place to live. He found it difficult to comprehend. A life where no one second-guessed you, misunderstood or condemned you for being yourself. No pressure to change. No need to hide behind a mask of non-emotion, and no need to behave in a manner unnatural to one's self. But. . .

"No use," he heard himself say, and looked up quickly to make sure he had not been overheard.

It was incomprehensible. He shook his head in self-reproach. For suddenly, from deep within him, came the desire to never leave this place.

Chekov laughed. Jaresh grinned, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder. Spock sighed, levering his tired body off the bench, and steeled himself against the thoughts that plagued him. The two workers looked up as he drew near.

"Everything is ready, Mr. Spock. The deflector shields have converted to solar panels very nicely. Jaresh and I believe mid-day, when the full effect of the sun is on the panel, will give us the most power for our signal."

Spock checked the position of the sun. "That means we must wait until tomorrow to transmit the signal."

"Yes sir, but. . . "

"What is it, Ensign?"

"What if the probe is on the other side of the planet?"

"We do it again the next day."

Chekov bit a lip. "And the next, and so on; I see. But the solar panel won't supply enough power once our shuttle reserves are gone. . . "

Jaresh could see where this conversation was leading. The young man, usually an optimist, was weighed down by the circumstances they faced, the constant ache in his damaged ankle, and the uncertainty of inexperience. The Vulcan, bred of two cultures, one emotional, one not, was unwell, his mental capacity hampered, his once quiescent emotions stirring against his will. Both men so different, yet more alike than they realized.

For they both came from worlds with backgrounds of turmoil - of want, of war, of hatred, anger and greed. And though their separate cultures had, however completely or incompletely, sought to rise above their natures, they were still saddled with them.

He wondered, not for the first time, if their ancestral past had anything to do with their ability to die so easily. Chekov had spoken of aging, which preceded death. There were a few of his people who had reached old age before they chose to die from the world, but he had known very few who did not finally choose their day of departure. And it was a celebration - a gathering of friends and

family to bid farewell to their loved one as he or she began a journey from this world to the next.

But Chekov, and even Spock, spoke of death as a sorrowful parting, usually unexpected or after long illness or decline - an end to all ends. And as officers aboard a ship representing many worlds and cultures and traveling into countless dangers and unknowns, their chances of the unexpected type far outweighed those of any other.

Jaresh suspected Spock's culture believed in the eternal existence of the inner being (he had learned a lot about the Vulcan in the brief times they had come in physical contact), but Spock did not elaborate and Jaresh held his tongue. Chekov, on the other hand, spoke of religions that taught of afterlife, but if he held any of these beliefs himself, he did not express them.

Jaresh did not understand how there could be such diversity of thought, unless again it stemmed from the ancestry of their planets. What was the key? He warned himself that he may never know and must not be too inquisitive, for these two were inscrutable in their own separate ways. Yet they both valued friendship, were curious about his culture's understanding and practice of it - doubtful at first about its viable simplicity and then, as they observed it in reality, eager to know more.

_No wonder they flinch from scrutiny so; if friendships in their worlds are so rare and difficult to come by_, he realized.

That captain, now. Spock held him in very high regard, and it was obvious that it transcended honor or respect. Jaresh had found no opportunity to acquaint himself with friend James; he seemed a normal individual, no doubt of the same emotional background as Chekov. So why was Spock attracted to him more than to Chekov? Did James have certain personality traits that 'fit' the Vulcan psyche? Did common age make a difference?

Jaresh rubbed his forehead. He was out of his element, trying to establish parameters for friendship among these aliens when on his planet everyone was loved the same, totally without question or reserve. It was just the way things were.

He realized that Spock and Chekov had carried on their conversation without him. However, the point was just being settled.

"We will continue to send the signal until we are no longer able to do so."

"Well," said Jaresh, lightly. "It grows toward dusk. I will prepare a fire and something to eat. Our messenger will be here soon, hopefully with news of the probe, and I'll tell another story of the stargazers, my ancestors, for your entertainment."

Chekov's face warmed in a smile. He was coming to like Jaresh's stories, although he highly suspected some of them to be nothing more than elaborate tall tales.

Spock merely nodded, relieved and grateful to have his mind taken off the probe. However, before he would relinquish himself to Jaresh's story-telling, he would write up a full report to Jim to send off with the messenger the following morning.


	8. Chapter 8

"All done, Serin?" asked Scott of the petite woman as she exited Kirk's room. He lifted the table he had cleared of the breakfast dishes and carried it outdoors so that Serin could scrub the floor. Serin followed, bring a blanket with her to air on a line near the house.

"Yes. His bandages had loosed and I just had to re-tie them. He is doing very well, but he is still trying to do too much too soon. Do not misunderstand me, friend Montgomery - I like friend James - but he is an exasperating man sometimes!"

Scott threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "Aye, lass, that he is." He grabbed one end of the blanket and helped her place it on the line. "But he's a good man, Serin, and an excellent one."

Serin nodded at him wisely. "I can see that you like him."

Scott hesitated. That old subject again. "Well. . .yes. Of course I like him."

"Does he like you?"

"Why do you ask? Here everybody likes everybody they know. I would think you'd expect him to like me."

"You are not from here. You are not like us. You and your kind have to get past barriers to become friends, barriers that we do not have here."

"What barriers?"

"Only you know the answer to that, friend Montgomery."

Scott wanted to continue the conversation, but a messenger was hurrying down the hill and he went to meet him. Soon he was entering Kirk's room, finding the captain sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling on a shirt. His face was tight and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.

"You shouldn't be up today, Captain. You don't look so good." He handed the message to Kirk, who read it without responding to Scott's coddling. In a moment, Kirk's face lit up, and he handed the message to the engineer.

"They'll be starting the signal at noon today. They work fast, though it would have been better if you could have been there to help them." Kirk reached up to push a soggy strand of hair from his flushed face.

"I've been right where I need to be, Jim. You're not well today. I think you should just rest here for awhile and let yourself heal. You just said they were doing just fine all by themselves. Waiting one more day to go to the shuttle won't change anything."

Kirk nodded and allowed himself to be settled back into bed, which alarmed Scott, who well knew his captain's quirks when it came to being out of action. He pulled a light blanket over him and went back out into the kitchen, where Serin was preparing the water to wash the floor.

"His fever's back," he began, lifting the heavy bucket for her and placing it upon the floor.

"I do not think it is serious, friend Montgomery. The body has ways of telling you that it is being pushed too hard. Fever is only one of them. You must make him stay in bed for a day or two, at least, to improve his stamina. Talk to him, reason, with him - sit on him if necessary - but keep him down."

"Aye," Scott agreed, although this captain-sitting was galling when he could be helping Spock or at least be out in the fields with Gerain. But Kirk was bull-headed sometimes, no arguing that, and Serin would not be able to handle him as he could. Like it or not, he was where he needed to be. Oh well, at least he could make himself useful to Serin. He pushed himself off the wall where he

had been leaning, looking around. "D'you have another mop?"

ooOOoo

Spock lay on his back, gazing up at the clouds which traversed the circle of his vision. Birds sang, insects clicked and chirped, and the air was aglow with sunlight. He looked at the angle of the sun. No sign of the probe. "Time to turn off the sensor array. The optimum time for solar power has passed."

"Yes sir," murmured Chekov, half-asleep in the grass beside Spock in the pleasant warmth of mid-day. He didn't move for a moment, then jumped to push himself erect, realizing that in his half-stupor, he had ignored the command of a senior officer.

"It's all right, ensign," said Spock. There was nothing more they could do that day. If the probe had been near them, the signal would have summoned it - theoretically speaking - and they would have seen whether their ambush device had worked. For now, they had nothing to do but run a few tricorder readings from time to time, and wait.

Suppressing a sigh, Spock turned over and forced his body upright. They had decided that there was a better chance of survival if they put as much distance between them and the shuttle as possible when the signal was activated. That way, even if the probe scanned for materials within their own bodies, they would be less affected - again, in theory. Jaresh, having experienced the probe only once and with little effect, had volunteered to monitor the sensor array to keep it on-line.

Although all three men knew there was little if any likelihood of the probe being summoned on the first day or even many days, a pall of gloom had seemed to settle over them when the first attempt failed. Now it was the second day, and still the probe had not responded to the beam. It did not help the general mood. They walked, silently, back to the shuttle. Jaresh joined them, having turned off the array for that day. As he had done the day before, he left the solar panels on in hopes of bolstering the shuttle's energy reserves.

Each man seemed lost in his own thoughts and reticent about encroaching upon the other, so they sat apart from one another, gazing into the distance. It was so quiet they could hear each other's breathing.

When Jaresh finally spoke, Chekov flinched with surprise.

"I will have a starsong tonight," the oracle said quietly. "I can feel it."

ooOOoo

"Serin, I'm perfectly all right. I told friend Spock I would be there two days ago and I must go there today. Scotty can go with me. . . "

Scott could hear Serin's sweetly modulated tones override Kirk's deeper ones and grinned to himself as he came down the stairs. He figured it would be this way.

The last two days had been trying for both men, Scotty playing the part of Kirk's personal demon in not letting him get up except for necessities. Even those trips to the outhouse were not unaccompanied, much to Kirk's frustration. "It's not because I don't trust you, Captain. I only want to make sure you don't fall." Scott's grin grew even wider. _At least I had the grace not to follow him into the loo_, he reasoned to himself.

The Scotsman found Kirk sitting in a chair in the kitchen, holding out a hand in appeal to his hostess. She looked unbudgeable, hands on hips, her lips tight. A messenger boy, tousled from sleep, sat at the table, eating his breakfast and supplying an audience. When Kirk saw Scott, his gaze became a silent plea of 'please help the captain'.

"It's all right, Serin. Friend James does have responsibilities he feels he's neglected too long. I'll go along with him and make sure he goes slow."

"But the cart is in the fourth field - he should ride, not walk."

"I know that, lass, and so does he, but he won't admit it until he falls down, so this is the way it has to be." Scott was smiling. Kirk was not, but his eyes were twinkling at the engineer. Scott told Serin goodbye for the time being and headed outside. Kirk got out of his chair, taking care not to favor his side so as to reassure Serin of his robust health, smiled a goodbye, and went outside to join Scotty, who was calling goodbyes to Gerain across the field.

They started off at a good pace, not too fast, and slowing a bit as they started up the hill. Turning, Kirk saw Serin in the doorway, waving at them. He nudged Scott, who turned and, seeing her, joined Kirk in a returned wave.

Kirk shook his head as they started back up the hill. "I have to admit to you, Scotty, that it's uncomfortable being bossed around by a woman as if she were my mother. It'd be easier if she were older than me, but she's young enough to be my kid sister." He smiled, liking the idea. "If I had a kid sister."

"Not to bust your bubble, Jim-lad, but that 'kid sister' is over three hundred of our earth years old."

"What?"

"Aye, it's true. We were talking at the table one night before you were able to get up - Serin, Gerain and I - and discussing this thing they do, this 'dying from the world' thing. I asked them to explain it to me more. All they really said was that everyone was content to live as long as they needed, and no more.

Serin mentioned that she wasn't nearly tired of living here yet and planned on staying on a few more years. I laughed and kidded her about her great age of which I guessed was around twenty or so, when she told me she had lived on this planet for four hundred seasons. Their day being shorter than ours, I figure she's past three hundred already."

Kirk was flabbergasted. He stopped, looked down the hill toward the farm. "Scotty, are you telling me these people. . .Oh my God!!"

Scotty looked to where Kirk was pointing. A green beam of light was cresting the hill beyond the farmhouse and heading toward them. The house was directly in its path.

"Come on!" yelled Scott, and grabbed Kirk's arm.

"No, no, you go on! I'll only slow you down." Kirk pushed Scotty away towards the farm and followed as quickly as he could, Scotty increasing the distance between them with leaps and bounds. "Get them out of the house!" he called after him. Scott answered with a wave.

As Kirk hurried toward the farm, time seemed to slow to a crawl. The beam crept inexorably closer, like the tornado in the Wizard of Oz, outpacing the engineer.

It would be close. In his peripheral vision, he could see Gerain and some other field help hurrying toward the house, but they were too far away. His blood roaring in his ears and his chest threatening to burst, he pushed himself to the bottom of the hill just as Scotty entered the house. Seconds later, the beam cut through it. Kirk struggled on a few more steps before the resonance of the beam brought him to his knees, feeling again as though some transporter technician were playing a hateful prank on him. He forced himself forward, crawling on his hands and knees, nearly reaching the kitchen yard before he collapsed.

"Mr. Spock - Sir, wake up!" Chekov was shaking the Vulcan none too gently, not looking at him but at the tricorder he held in his other hand. "Sir, the probe - it's coming!"

Instantly awake, Spock saw Jaresh rush to the door of the shuttle and look out. The sun's barely risen. The solar panels will be of little use, I fear."

"Activate them anyway, Jaresh," ordered Spock. Jaresh hurried to obey while Spock reset the sensor array in preparation for activation of the beam. Chekov continued to scan with the tricorder, going outside for better reception.

"It's three miles away from here and moving laterally, Mr. Spock. We'll lose it if we don't hurry."

"Activating now," said Spock, as unemotionally as if he were turning on an air-scrubber back on the ship. He had less control over his shaking hand, however, as he pressed the switch.

The equipment came to life, crescendoing to the bursting point, then releasing the signal, the energy of it vibrating the shuttle as if it were still in flight.

They stood a moment, watching the readouts, listening to the hum of the array, waiting for Chekov to tell them what the probe was doing.

He told them in one word: "Run!"

Turning around and heading off at right degree angles as fast as his lame leg would take him, Chekov bolted away from the shuttle. Spock was right behind him, but Jaresh stayed behind. He watched to make sure the men were safely away, then went into the shuttle to monitor the sensor array, wondering what it felt like to be caught directly in the probe's awesome force.

ooOOoo

Kirk came to himself as the probe moved away from the house and continued up and over the hill he had just descended. It's direction, as far as he could tell, was a direct heading for the shuttle. _The signal!_ he thought. _It must be working_. Kirk pushed himself to his feet and started toward the house again when he heard an ominous cracking among the beams and roof trusses.

"Scotty, get out of there!" he yelled, pausing at the door, the sounds of stressed beams and supports growing louder, punctuated by more cracks and pops.

"Scotty! Serin!" Casting a quick glance at the roof above him, Kirk ran into the building. Moments later, the roof collapsed, taking the chimney with it. Smoke began to billow from the rubble of the house. As Gerain and others ran into the yard, orange and yellow flames erupted and began to consume the ruins with a roar.

ooOOoo

"Readings, Mr. Chekov."

"Aye, sir!" A pause. "Forty seconds until contact. . .thirty. . ." Chekov looked up into the sky as if he expected to be able to see the probe hundreds of miles above them. He looked back at the tricorder. "Five. . .two, one. "

The sensor signal from the shuttle continued to function; they could hear its hum even from this distance. The green beam from the probe moved off to their right, visible above the trees, then disappeared a few seconds after Chekov's countdown. There was a curious green flash that momentarily outshone the sun, then normal daylight returned. Chekov continued to monitor with his tricorder. Birds began to sing again.

"Sir. . ." He cleared his throat. "Sir, these readings show. . .Sir, the probe is dead!"

"Are you certain, Ensign?"

Chekov handed the tricorder to Spock. "See for yourself. It's not emitting energy of any kind. It just. . .turned off."

"Indeed," confirmed Spock, looking at the readings. He looked up from the tricorder, over to the trees where the shuttle was and where the green probe was last seen. It was very quiet. "Jaresh," he breathed.

"Come on," urged Chekov, and they hurried back to the shuttle. Their fears were soon alleviated when Jaresh, grinning, emerged from the woods on the other side of the shuttle, breathing hard but unharmed, having bolted from the shuttle a few seconds before the probe's energy field reached the homing beacon's lure. Spock showed Jaresh the tricorder readings.

"It's finally over? The probe is dead?" Jaresh murmured, shaking his head.

"Hmph!" snorted Chekov, sorry he could not have been an eye-witness to the event. He had a few points to settle with that probe. It felt anti-climactic, too easy, after all the destruction the probe had caused, to just have it go out like a lightbulb. "Too bad we don't have phaser capability."

At Jaresh's puzzled look, he added: "I'd like to blast it into its most basic elements." Then he grinned, relief taking him.

Jaresh grinned too and, although Spock could not, in good conscience, allow himself to grin, he did smile benignly upon them both with his dark, measureless eyes.

ooOOoo

Kirk pushed a pile of debris off him, discovering that the main collapse had occurred in the kitchen and bedroom area, where he had slept, just ahead of the entrance foyer where he stood. He grabbed at shattered lumber, heedless of his hands, and threw it aside, trying to clear a way into the kitchen, calling Scotty and Serin.

"Captain!" came a muffled cry from within. Kirk thought he smelled smoke.

"Here, Scotty! I'm at the side door, the yard door. Can you move?"

"Aye!" The voice was louder now. Kirk, as he continued to move debris and pieces of furniture, could make out Scotty moving toward him, also moving debris, but encumbered by a burden he was carrying over one shoulder. Kirk soon saw that it was Serin.

The smell of smoke was strong now and the men began to cough. Kirk could see a flicker of light in the back of the room and realized they were quickly running out of time. He pushed his way forward until he and Scotty met. Scotty handed Serin over to Kirk. "Get her outta here, Sir. I have to go back for the boy!"

"Boy?!" Kirk yelled over the increasing roar of the fire, which was spreading quickly.

"The messenger lad! You saw him this morning. He's all right, but he's caught under a beam.

"Wait for me! I'll take Serin outside and. . . "

"There's no _time_, Captain!" Scotty disappeared into the smoke.

Coughing uncontrollably now, Kirk half carried, half dragged Serin outside, where Gerain took her from him. They tried to get Kirk to stay in the yard, pointing to the half-engulfed house, but he couldn't stay there when Scott and the child were still inside. He threw himself back into the building and ran into the boy who had just emerged from the kitchen rubble.

"Where's Scott?" The boy was shaking, sobbing, his tears making clean streaks in the soot on his face.

"It fell on him," he cried, pointing back to the kitchen. "The chimney. He won't move - I can't get him to move!"

"Never mind, son, I'll get him out. You go outside - that way, see? They're waiting for you." He pushed the child toward the entrance, watched for a second to make sure he was headed in the right direction, and dove into the smoky morass.

It was impossible to see, nearly impossible to breathe. Kirk dropped to his hands and knees to avoid the smoke and found the going easier, the broken beams and timbers somewhat supported by kitchen furniture, which was made of solid wood and sturdy. Using the table as a tunnel, he found himself within arm's reach of the back wall, where the chimney had first fallen, then broken in two, half of the rubble landing upon the chief engineer, who now lay unconscious among the bricks, his head covered with blood.

Eyes streaming, hands bloody, Kirk pushed and shoved his way to the Scotsman, putting his fingers to the neck, reaching - praying for a pulse. He got one and closed his eyes briefly in thankfulness. Then, quickly, feeling the scorching heat of the encroaching flames, he rolled the bricks off Scott's body and pulled him around so he could get his hand under the engineer's shoulders. Slowly, foot by foot, Kirk pulled Scott out of the room, ignoring the flames, the sound of

beams and timbers threatening to complete their fall, bent on getting out. As he backed his way out of the building, pushing more debris out of the way with his feet, wheezing and coughing with the effort of breathing, he began to reassure the unconscious man. "Not much further, Scotty. We'll get out. We have to get out." It played a cadence in his mind; whether he was saying it out loud, he didn't know.

Then someone was grabbing him, legs first, hauling him out of the building, bringing Scotty out afterward. He tried to stand but they wouldn't let him. They placed him on the ground next to Scott, some distance away from the building, under the shade of a tree. Someone gave him water; he thought it was Serin, but when he opened his burning eyes he saw it was not her. He tried to focus on the person but his eyes hurt and the world was moving, moving. . .

Then he took a breath. A deep one, and though it set him coughing again, it was clean air, good air. He managed to get up on one elbow and look back to the house, which was now folding in on itself like an envelope, the flames licking at the last of the wood before swallowing itself up. To his left was Scotty, being tended to by a man who shot a look of assurance to Kirk. He looked back at

the house, the people gathered around, then down to his damaged hands.

Someone, the same someone who had given him water, he thought, gently made him lie back down and put some cool compresses on his eyes. The swirling in his mind grew stronger and the roar that had started out as the hunger of the flames was now in his ears. But he was safe, the boy and Serin were safe, and Scotty was safe. The adrenalin that had kept him going seeped out of him as if the ground he lay upon were soaking it up. Finally, as he gave in to his body's fatigue,

his last conscious thought was: _We got out._

ooOOoo

Chekov was frowning at his tricorder. Jaresh approached and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You know, don't you?" Chekov lifted his eyebrows. "You know the farm where friend James and friend Montgomery are staying was in the path of the probe."

I. . .yes, it had to be. When we set the signal off, the probe changed direction. It had to have come right through the farm. The probe had already sampled the minerals and metals it would have run across there as it came toward us. . . "

"And would therefore have the potential of doing the most damage. The barn that collapsed last week. . . "

"We've got to get over there!" Chekov announced, gathering up equipment. "Mr. Spock," he called as the Vulcan emerged from the shuttle after shutting off the machinery. "We've got to go to Gerain's farm right away, to see if they need our help."

Spock nodded agreement. Jaresh retrieved the medikit and they started for the farm as quickly as their tired legs could take them.

ooOOoo

Scotty walked in a world of shadows and whispers, with startling streaks of neon blue flashing across the periphery like lightning. As he lay there, slowly becoming aware of firm earth beneath him, a blanket over him, and a wet compress on the side of his face, he began to make out the whisperings, which were diverse but becoming more clear. With great effort, he forced one eye open, squinting up at a sandy-haired figure that, once washed, might pass for a man. Right now he bore an odd negative-raccoon look where his eyes had been washed, but nothing else. Then he grinned, flashing a crooked white line across the sooty expanse.

"Jim-lad!" he croaked. He fit Kirk's grip on his shoulder tighten, then his head lifted as the captain gave him a drink of water. He was eased back down, managed to open the other eye, and glanced around him. Memory flooded back and he tried to sit up, but dizziness and Kirk's firm but gentle hands made him stay down.

"The boy! Serin! Did we get 'em out?"

"Yes, Scotty, we got them out. The boy's fine; he's around here somewhere." Kirk trailed off. Scott shot him a glance.

"And Serin?"

"She. . . " Kirk looked away, his mouth set in a grim line.

Before Scotty could speak, the boy that had been rescued from the house came over to them. "Gerain says it is time, if you are able to come." Kirk nodded assent and the boy left them.

"Time? Time for what?" asked Scotty, his voice querulous with fatigue and foreboding.

"Think you can stand?" Kirk asked, already levering the Scotsman to his feet.

"Aye, and if I can't, you hold me up," he growled, leaning heavily upon Kirk.

They approached another tree-shaded area where Serin was propped up on feed sacks, drinking water from a cracked cup someone had salvaged from the ruins.

She smiled at them as they approached. Kirk and Scott looked at each other, smiling tentatively. She was going to be all right. Kirk helped Scott to sit close to Serin, next to Gerain, who was holding her hand. The expression on his face was strange - sad, yet happy. Scotty thought that was understandable, seeing how the man loved his wife - hated to see her hurt, but relieved that she was still among the living.

Serin was talking. Kirk, after depositing Scott next to her, moved away a little, giving them privacy. When he had awakened, he wanted to see how she was, but they wouldn't let him go to her. Gerain had talked with her a long time as she was being ministered to and it looked as if it was customary not to disturb them. Kirk had honored this but had chafed that he hadn't been able to tell her how sorry he was that this had happened, how much he really did appreciate all her and her husband's kindness to him and Scotty. But that was ridiculous; there would be plenty of time to talk to her after she was better. Maybe they would lay their hands on her, like Scotty explained was done for him when he was so ill. In fact, there was Jaresh coming over the hill now, with Spock and Chekov in tow.

He walked toward them, glad to see them, glad especially to see Spock. As they approached each other, Jaresh gave him a courteous greeting, looked him over quickly, then headed towards Gerain and Serin. Kirk watched him go for a moment, then turned to the other two men. "I guess I pass muster. How about you, Spock - Mr. Chekov? Are you all right?" He laid a hand on each man's arm as if just looking at them wasn't enough.

Spock raised an eyebrow, looking at Kirk's bandaged hands, sooty face, and torn, filthy clothes. "As much as you are, I would surmise, Captain. We are functional, wouldn't you say, Ensign?"

Chekov nodded wearily, smiling. "Functional at least, Mr. Spock."

"And the probe?"

"Deactivated, although Mr. Chekov has expressed the desire to 'blast it to kingdom come'."

"Oh really?" chided Kirk, smiling at the youth. "We'll see what we can do about that, Mr. Chekov."

Jaresh was motioning for them to come over. As they walked to the tree where Serin lay, Kirk explained that he thought a healing might be taking place for her. Spock gave him a strange look, but said nothing. Explanations would have to wait.

Gerain was standing, smiling, though tears were in his eyes. Jaresh was still examining Serin, and motioned for Spock to scan her body, which was covered by a blanket. Gerain was talking in another language, or so they thought, until finally they realized it was only a dialect of the standard language of the day. Quickly, the UT's kicked in and they could understand him.

"From the times of old we, the obedient, have been given the gift of eternal life. From the times of old we, the faithful, have been given the choice of which form our life may take. It is a gift given to us by the Friend - the Giver, the Provider, for all eternity. As of old, we have chosen and choose to this day 'that which is right and good' and forego 'that which is false and empty,' and in this choosing we have made the ultimate choice of Friend. And, in giving ourselves in this friendship, we can receive unto ourselves no greater gift than this." He looked around the group, taking them all in, before resting his eyes on Jaresh. "Friend Jaresh received a starsong last night telling of one of us whose time has come to depart our world." He looked down at Serin. "Now we know who is to be the one."

Spock caught Jaresh's eye, having completed the scan, and shook his head. Serin smiled at him, though obviously in pain. Spock offered a hypo, but she declined. Jaresh and Spock stood, remaining close to Gerain and Scotty. Others gathered near, but no one else entered the innermost ring. Kirk stood on the outside, slowly losing sight of Serin as more people gathered.

He heard Serin's voice without understanding the words. The crowd parted a little and he saw her motion to him. Self-consciously, he came into the ring and knelt down by her to take her offered hand. She looked at the bandages and stroked the top of his hands gently, then grimaced in pain. Kirk glanced at Spock, who showed him the scanned readings. It was all Kirk could do to keep the

expression of horror off his face as he read of the decimation of her slight body. The beam had wrought horrible damage – damage that could not be suvived. "Why aren't you. . . " His voice sounded loud in the stillness. Handing back the tricorder to Spock, he continued, lowering his voice: "Why don't you lay your hands on her, like you did for me? Scott told me what you did - how you. . .why don't you _do_ something?"

It was Serin who did the explaining. "I am too injured to ever be whole in body again, friend James. I can choose to live as long as I wish in this world, but not without costs. This way, I cannot help Gerain, I cannot have the children we wanted, I cannot serve as friend or be served as friend. In the next world, where our bodies are different, I cannot be touched by injury or disfigurement.

I can continue to serve, to be served, to live a joyful, fulfilled life - just as I have here - only different."

"You mean you're goin' to die," declared Scott, anguished. Serin smiled at him compassionately and reached up to him. He clasped her hand, tears sparkling unshed in his eyes.

"We don't look at it quite that way, friend Montgomery," explained Jaresh, "but in essence, you are right. Serin is going to leave this broken body and inhabit a new one. We all do sooner or later."

Scott, remembering the events of Kirk's illness and eventual healing, said: "Then, Serin, you're choosin' to leave, lass? You want to?"

"Yes, friend Montgomery, with all my heart. I want to go." Scotty bent his head over the small hand and whispered something to her, so low Kirk couldn't make it out. Serin smiled at him again before closing her eyes. Gently, Scotty lay her hand back upon the blanket and looked up at the tree, blinking rapidly.

Kirk made to release Serin's other hand, which she had never relinquished, but she opened her eyes to gaze upon him and squeezed his fingers with the last of her failing strength - she was so weak now he could barely perceive her touch through his bandages. "There is a ritual, and though you are not of this world, I wish you to be here." She looked at all of them around her native and alien alike. "All of you." Her eyes flashed back at Kirk. "You are the only person I have ever known to make me lose my temper." She winked at him, driving the dagger of heartbreak a little deeper. "You see, through you I learned a little more about myself. That is what all this is - what life is - learning more about ourselves, and what is our purpose here." She drew a ragged breath, releasing Kirk's hand, and lay back upon the makeshift bed. "It is time."

Scott couldn't remember much of what happened after that. His head was pounding and the world around him was fading in and out; he was standing only with Chekov's help. His memories of Serin's passing were mostly images: Spock standing next to Jaresh with his stoic, unemotional face firmly in place, hands gripping the tricorder with crushing force; Jaresh, with a sad wistfulness

playing upon his features; Gerain, spouse and beloved of Serin, holding her hand and talking quietly to her throughout the passing, until she was gone; Chekov, his Starfleet face slipping and tears gathering in his eyes; and Kirk, his face stricken, dry-eyed, jaw clenched and arms folded - unapproachable, guarded. And Montgomery Scott? He only knew he had to wipe the tears from his face again and again, but through it all he found himself smiling, right up to the time Gerain

laid his hand on Serin's head and proclaimed: "And now, with Serin's full consent, we give her life into our Friend's keeping."

"So be it," said Jaresh, and turned away.

ooOOoo

**Captain's Log/Supplemental:**

**Back on board the Enterprise. Galesi report to Starfleet of overdue shuttle **

**and new reports of unidentified probe in the system brought the U.S.S. Tempest **

**in to investigate. Search and rescue were quickly implemented. The disabled **

**probe has been taken aboard the Tempest for closer examination. **

**Here on the ship, Ensign Chekov has undergone surgery and Dr. McCoy expects **

**full recovery of the use of his ankle. Mr. Scott's concussion has caused him **

**some trouble and he will be taking time from his duties to rest and **

**recuperate. A copy of this log is being forwarded to Mr. Scott so there will **

**be no misunderstanding concerning this directive. **

**Mr. Spock will be receiving vitamin shots for several weeks and is under the **

**eagle eye of our Chief Medical Officer.**

**I am on light duty until my hands and ribs finish healing, which shouldn't be **

**long under the aforementioned CMO's care.**

**Starfleet, upon Mr. Spock's recommendation, has declared Jaresh's planet, **

**which they call 'Cheldis,' off-limits to the public so as not to disturb the **

**rare culture there. However, due to the nature of our 'contamination' and **

**subsequent knowledge of Starfleet and the Federation by certain parties on **

**Cheldis, visits may be made there by invitation only. I will add here that **

**Mr. Spock, Mr. Scott, Mr. Chekov and myself have standing invitations. We **

**have every intention of taking them up on it.**

**The Galesi wedding went ahead without the Federation's Starfleet presence. **

**As it turns out, a Federation representative on the Tempest was dropped on **

**Galesi for the closing days of the wedding and ruffled feathers were smoothed. **

**Chekov, of course, is broken-hearted about missing the festivities and being a **

**part of the wedding contingent, as is Mr. Spock.**

**The Enterprise is on course to Starbase 2 for some R&R and supplies.**

**On course, on schedule.**

**Kirk out.**

ooOOoo

**Epilogue**

Leonard McCoy sat in his office, lights dimmed but for the one at his desk. He opened a drawer and retrieved a disk, placing it in his tricorder, switching the setting to audio. He had listened to the recording several times, marveling at the man who he hoped to meet someday soon. He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the desk, and listened. . .

_Dear Dr. McCoy,_

_I never thought I would be given a tricorder of my own, much less use one to record events here on Cheldis. We will see what I have learned of log entries from friend Chekov. Today, approximately eight months after the probe was destroyed, Captain Kirk, Chief Engineer Scott and Engisn Chekov are here on an authorized shore leave. Spock, whom you have told me remains upon the Enterprise for reasons of his own, nevertheless has sent a present to me, along _

_with a message that he will visit me at another time in the near future. Please tell him I understand his struggle and will count the days until he feels the freedom to come._

_The men are staying at the new house of Gerain, who has not only made them at home, but has already put them to work! I am keeping an eye on them, as you have requested. I trust that you, in turn, are watching over our Mr. Spock. He wants to be here, so much so that he feels he must deny himself that luxury - at least for now. I sense that, though he will not initially approve that I have told you this, he will eventually see the need, as you are his doctor - and his friend._

_Friend James has taken to visiting a certain tree at twilight, leaning against it and gazing into the distance as if thinking of something - or someone. Friend Montgomery joins him frequently, and they spend a great deal of time talking together. This is gratifying to me, as I sense they have found that friendship holds many forms. I visit them often, and was surprised when Chekov presented me with Spock's gift I mentioned, an antique telescope one thousand times more _

_powerful than my own, homemade model. Chekov, older now in many ways, is only too glad to show me the intricacies of the telescope and share generously with me a friendship he had previously withheld. It was worth the wait._

_You asked me to tell of myself. Hm - what of Jaresh? He is still the seer, the one who looks for starsongs from his Friend, his Provider, as he has always done. As he did when they foretold of the coming of the strange men and their role in saving his planet from destruction. As he did when he explained life and death as we know it to friend Chekov one starry night. As he did when they told of Serin's passing, the night before the probe came the last time, the night before Serin was crushed in the fallen house. As he did when they foretold again of the second visit of his friends from other worlds, people who approached and found friendship differently, but were still every bit his friends as he was theirs. And he would go on so until at last he wished to leave this world, as _

_had Serin, and go to the next, where he would see his Friend face-to-face, where he would serve without fatigue, without a mortal body, until time without end. But in the meantime, he would enjoy these friends, his life, his world, this obscure, out-of-the-way planet, this 'Cheldis' which in the old tongue means, simply: 'Friend.'_

End


End file.
